


Thoughts on the Subject of Soulmates

by star-ting-over (Goldridge2)



Series: Scale and Cloth [1]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rebels, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Alien Cultural Differences, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Amnesia, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Drabble Collection, Episode: s01e05 Rise of the Old Masters, Episode: s07e01 The Bad Batch, Execution, F/F, F/M, First Meetings, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Injury Recovery, Isolation, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Multi, Nightsisters (Star Wars), Order 66, Panic Attacks, Post-Order 66, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Retrospective, Soulmates, Suicidal Ideation, Synesthesia, Unreliable Narrator, Worldbuilding, Wrecker spends half his time on screen saving that scrawny little shit, hes an introspective guy, incarceration, no happy endings here folks, rex's chapter's alway turn into 501st introspectives, sounds weird but theres some logic there I swear, this fandom is sleeping on Wrecker/Crosshair, what can i say
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:47:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 20,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26178991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldridge2/pseuds/star-ting-over
Summary: A series of one-shots.Every sentient creature in the galaxy has a soul mark.All except one. There were many mysteries surrounding Anakin Skywalker, but this one would bring the most pain.
Relationships: Adi Gallia/CC-8826 Neyo, Adi Gallia/Micah Giiett, Asajj Ventress/Feral Opress, Barriss Offee/Ahsoka Tano, CC-2224 | Cody/Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-5052 | Bly/Aayla Secura, CC-6454 | Ponds/Mace Windu, CT - 5358 Tup/Slick, CT-21-0408 | Echo/CT-27-5555 | Fives | ARC-5555, CT-5597 | Jesse/CT-6116 | Kix, Dogma (Star Wars)/Original Character(s), Dooku/Sifo-Dyas (Star Wars), Hunter/CT-7567 Rex, Mee Deechi/Padme Amidala, Original Clone Trooper Character(s)/Original Clone Trooper Character(s), Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Plo Koon/CC-3636 | Wolffe, Qui-Gon Jinn/CC-8826 Neyo, Riyo Chuchi/CC-1010 | Fox, Shaak Ti/Original Character(s), Wrecker/Crosshair, Yoda/Original Jedi Character(s)
Series: Scale and Cloth [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1959676
Comments: 22
Kudos: 121





	1. Anakin – Show me a hero, and I will write you a tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> More tags to be added with each chapter. 
> 
> This series investigates soul marks in the Star Wars universe primarily but will at times take some random detours to other ideas I find interesting. Mostly the Jedi and how being raised by the order affects how they relate to the cultures of there home planet. It will also consider the effect of Order 66 and the lives of the clones after. Really its all just a lot of SAD. 
> 
> This whole series came about thanks to one though I had, which was – What if Dogmas soulmate was Pong Krells childhood best friend? – and spiralled from there. Ironically that drama fest doesn’t really feature in this fic, that one is the focus of another fic, written from Krell's point of view. That one didn’t fit with the vibe of this fic as its less episodic more one long story, so that’s going to be posted separately

Every sentient creature in the galaxy had a soul mark. Legally speaking it is a tenant of the Republic charter. Any creature(s) bearing a symbol or mark on their skin that can provably be shown to denote a tangible link to other creature(s) of the same or differing species are considered sentient and a hither too intitled to all courtesies and protections detailed in Chapter 3, Sub-section 2a of this charter. 

Every sentient creature in the galaxy has a soul mark.

All except one. There were many mysteries surrounding Anakin Skywalker, but this one would bring the most pain. 

Anakin Skywalker understood what it was to love. To feel love, to be loved. His mother, his master, his apprentice, his wife. He loved them all, each in their own way. He loved fiercely, protectively, in defiance of the Jedi code, that preached temperance in love like it wasn’t a part of the very force that they served, in defiance of society, that told you that there was only room for one love in your heart. 

Love was not a commodity in Anakin Skywalkers heart, it was an endless font that seemed to flood everything he did. Maybe that was what the universe was going for when it decided not to give him a soul mark, Anakin tried not to second guess the force where he could help it. That’s a lie, he spent a lot of time second-guessing the force. 

Like when he was lying in bed with Padme, her laugh dancing around the room, her hair like molten caramel, illuminated by the fading evening light of Coruscant. In moments such as those, Anakin doubted fate and all it held for him. What good was fate if it couldn’t see that they were perfect for each other. Anakin defied anyone to tell him that he and Padme didn’t belong together. The circumstances of their meeting were, after all, so improbable that it had to have been predestined. The difference in their worlds went more profound than just their planet, deeper than Jedi and Senator. It struck at the core of who they were, and they loved each other anyway. Fate be damned. 

Maybe it was what came with love that Anakin couldn’t grasp. No matter how hard he tried, Anakin would never truly understand the agony that radiated through the force when he had led Barriss into the courtroom in handcuffs. In trying to save Ahsoka, Anakin was sure he had succeeded in destroying her. To Anakin the idea of being behind bars, shut away from everyone who cared about you, everyone you loved, well it was the worst thing imaginable. But for Ahsoka, nothing would ever be more painful than knowing it was her soulmate who had tried to put her there. 

When Ahsoka walked away from the Jedi Order, from the temple, from Anakin, he thought that she was abandoning her home and turning her back on her family. It made him angry, it hurt him, more than he had been hurt in a long time. Obi-Wan said she was trying to walk away from her tie to Barriss, but there was no walking away from fate. Perhaps that belief helped mitigate some of the guilt he felt about sitting on the council that cast her out in the first place. Anakin didn’t know, or care really, all he knows was Ahsoka was gone, and he would never understand why. 

Anakin loved Obi-Wan as well, even if it was difficult. Other people theorised that it was fate that had pushed them together, as master and apprentice, that it was the will of the force that Obi-Wan should train Anakin. Anakin and Obi-Wan knew better. Fate had pushed Anakin and Qui Gon together. Obi-Wan had simple been caught in between. 

Maul's lightsabre had been an aberration of fate, the death knell to the light, rung before the Jedi even knew they were fighting a war. Obi-Wan tried, oh so valiantly, to pick up the pieces. But when Anakin needed a Father, Obi-Wan was his brother. When Anakin needed to hear that the Jedi council was not all there was to the force, Obi-Wan was their echo. Obi-Wan, a paragon of what the Jedi were, so very different from Qui Gon in all the ways that mattered. He hadn’t stood a chance. 

When one soulmate dies, their other halves mark becomes a scar that never fades. The scar matched the one on their heart, a fractured piece, no longer whole. Anakin’s mother’s death was not a scar. It was a wound that never healed. Shmi Skywalker was, above all, else a good person and in a cruel galaxy that was a rare thing. That made her death all the more senseless, and the blood and suffering her death brought, all the more abhorrent. This was what Anakin’s love wrought.

In the end, Padme was dead, his mother was dead. Ahsoka barely a shadow cast upon his life, whatever had once bound them together, mercilessly cut. And Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan left him to die, claiming to love him, claiming to care. Anakin knew better.  
Everything Anakin touched, everything he loved turned to ash. Fine by him. He would just have to burn the galaxy to match. 

Mustafar’s fire had burned away all that was left of Anakin’s love. Padme’s devotion, Ahsoka’s kindness, Obi-Wans honour, his mother's goodness.

Darth Vader didn’t understand love. He never would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up is Padme


	2. Padme – Love is not a victory march

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And Padme was so very afraid to tell her husband because she already knows how he will react.

Padme could not pull her gaze away from the scars on her sides. Perfect intertwining spirals, 2 sets just above her hips. She felt as though she was about to be sick. Her comm chimed again, as it had done only a few minutes before, and a few minutes before that. She made no move to answer it. She knew it was from Anakin, she knew her silence must be worrying him, but she was so afraid that if she spoke to him, he would know that something was wrong, and then she would have to explain, and she couldn’t do that, not yet. 

They had tried to talk, of course, they had. Every person who pursues a relationship with someone other than their soul mate has to have the discussion. What happens when I find them if I find them, what does that mean for us, how does that affect our future? It is an abstract conversation for any couple, filled with maybe and what-ifs, two people trying to plan for a future that was little more than a guess. Every time Padme had brought it up with Anakin things had gone sideways fast, as a conversation about uncomfortable feeling with Anakin Skywalker always seemed too, so eventually, Padme had just stopped trying. 

Now her soulmate was dead. 

And Padme was so very afraid to tell her husband because she already knows how he will react. 

He will be happy. Padme cannot face that right now. 

The logical part of her mind tells her that it's understandable. The one significant obstacle for them being together, in Anakin’s mind was not the senate, not the Jedi Order, but the fact that there was someone out there more perfect, better made, for her than him. That obstacle had now been removed, this was their chance, their happily ever after, and Padme wanted more than anything to believe that too. 

She loved Anakin so much, of course, she did, she married him, a man who wasn’t her soulmate because she knew that they were perfect for each other and she told herself that no mark on her skin was going to change that. A part of her daydreamed that she would wake up one morning and there would be a set of spiral marks on his hips to match hers, that the universe or the force or whatever it was that branded them from birth would see its mistake and correct it. It was a fantasy, but that was never enough to temper hope. 

Now her soulmate was dead. 

Another ding sounded around her quarters, not from her comm, but from her datapad this time. That nausea rose a little more, she wandered over to the pad and grabbed it, glancing down at the sender of the message. She tossed the pad back onto the table, unable to bring herself open it. Tears stung her eyes. More than anything in the world, she wanted her Uncle Ono. He would know what to say, what to do. His calm, reassuring words could stem the nausea.

But Uncle Ono was dead, murdered by his aide, who he had considered his daughter, just like he had considered her his daughter. First, her Uncle and then her soulmate dead in only a few days. One she had known all her life, one she had never had a chance to meet. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, was it?

She allowed her tears to begin a fall. She replayed the moment back in her mind. She sharp stabbing pain in her hips as she and Bail prepared to head to the docks, looking for some sort of clue as to who had murdered Ono. 

She had almost doubled over in pain, it was unlike anything she had ever felt. And then it was gone, though perhaps she had felt a little colder. She had known what had just happened, in the back of her mind, and deep in her heart. And yet she had continued, as though nothing had happened moving forward, and she couldn’t say why. 

The fight at the docks, the adrenaline of what had happened and her fury at Deechi had kept her going as she marched towards the Umbaran Senator’s office. She was so sure that he was behind this attack, and her Uncle death, hell if you had asked her in those moments, she might have sworn that he was behind the whole blasted War, but he wasn’t. He was dead—a knife through the heart. ~Your soul mate is dead~ a though half-formed but perfectly clear. And that is when the nausea had begun, stood in front of the Umbaran senators’ corpse. 

The soul marks of every public official are committed to a database upon there election to public office. They are checked against a “Universal” database of soul marks kept by the Republic for matches and are listed as public record. If Padme soul mate was someone in the senate, then the database would have flagged it. 

~No, it wouldn’t have~ The voice was back. It wasn’t wrong. Padme fingernails scraped over her cheek. Umbaran’s were exempt. As were Kaminoan, Mirialan and Kiffar, but they were not so immediately relevant. 

Recalling her schooling in galactic politics, Padme sighed. The automatic, Republic wide recoding of soul marks as a matter of course, was a relatively new system, it had only been implemented a few years before Padme had joined the senate. That made only 5 years’ worth new-borns on the system as well as the data from worlds that had previously had their own independent records. That only made about 100 trillion of the nearly 5 quadrillion lives within the Republic. A drop in the bucket, though admittedly one that grew every year. 

Some worlds, however, were exempt from having to submit or even record the marks, a right won on the threat of secession from the Republic. One the Chancellor Valorum had taken rather seriously. Umbarans believed for someone other than a family member or an elder to see a person soul mark was an abhorrent violation. For a soul mark to be recorded? Stored on a publicly accessible database? It was unthinkable. 

Senator Deechi’s soul mark was not a matter of public record. He would never have looked on the database because to him, to his culture, it would have been an unforgivable violation of the colleagues he claimed to respect. That was uncharitable, he did respect them, or a least he respected the institution they both served. He died around the time Padme soul mark burnt. All the pieces began to build a horrible picture. 

He had been in the senate longer than her; she hadn’t known him well. He had been on the senate longer than she had been alive, she had actively avoided him more than once. They always seemed to be on opposite sides, fiery statements, cool rebuttals. Padme had thought them opposites, but in reality, they were more of a counterpoint to one another, a melody and a harmony, contrasting but in the end, they were part of the same symphony. 

Padme grabbed the pad off the table and opened the message. She skimmed the opening lines, thank you for your request. Please see the following details. If the content of this message causes you distress, please contact these helplines, and on so.  
Her information request to the Coruscant Upper-Level Coroner’s office had felt wrong the core of her being. Umbaran culture, his culture, forbid this, expressly but he was dead, and by Coruscant Law it would be illegal to deny a request for a soul mark verification. She could lose her seat in the senate for this, but she had to know. 

She opened the attached image.

Perfect intertwining spirals, 2 sets just above his hips, dark as night, as hers had been, not 42 hours ago. Her comm chimed again. Padme sobs echoed in the cold dark room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am rather obsessed with Umbarans, there culture (for which I have more head cannons than I can count), their planet (same again). Mee Deechi fascinates me. His death can be directly traced as the cause for the secession of Umbara from the Republic, sparking the Umbara Arc, again an obsession of mine to be delved into later in the series. I image Deechi to be a staunch republican, the loudest voice of support for the Republic on a planet that clearly had separatist sympathies and in many ways fit the model for the isolationist and limited control ideology of the separatists. He and Padme are both devoted to the Republic and its ideals but go about it in a different way. I made them soul mates because I think his pragmatism (having Ono followed despite respecting him and leaning into a war rather than suing for peace) made him the perfect counterbalance to Padmes blind idealism. I also like that he’s wildly different from Anakin, playing with the idea that the person who is “perfect” for you isn’t always the person you would want.


	3. Wolffe – An eye for an eye for an eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plo had told Wolffe that his eyes were silver. Wolffe wondered if his artificial eye was more familiar to Plo than this brown one.

Eyes are the window to the soul. Or some other shit. Wolffe could not say that he had ever paid a lot of attention to such ponderous phrases or spiritual musings. Still, as he stared into the fresher mirror, he started to think that there may be something to this after all. The scar on his face was bad enough, a vicious, angry red, sickeningly reminiscent of the weapon that that had created it. But it was the eye, or more specifically the replacement of the eye that prevented him from simply wandering back to bed. It was cold silver, nauseatingly mechanical, soulless empty as a droid’s. 

Plo had told Wolffe that his eyes were silver. Wolffe wondered if his artificial eye was more familiar to Plo than this brown one. No, he reminded himself, it wasn’t, Plo had grown up around human, brown was more familiar to him as well, more so than his own.   
The end of Wolffe soul mark curled around his throat like a rope, intricately detailed, a uniquely deadly form of beautiful. His throat, across his back, down his leg, the pattern seemed to be trying to consume him. Long dark swaths of geometric pattens intercut with organic sweeps like a living river winding its way through the harsh conformity of a cityscape. Before he had met Plo, Wolffe had assumed that he was destined to meet someone light and free to cut through the conformity of the military, a breath of fresh air. He wondered if Plo had thought the same thing, that he would find a taste of wildness to break apart the rigidity of Jedi life. Plo wasn’t free, and Wolffe wasn’t, despite his name, all that wild. Maybe he was reading too much into some random pattern. Mussing about soul marks was a bit cerebral for Wolffe’s taste, he preferred facts and figures, the little that there was regarding soul mates. 

There were 2 recognised types of soulmates. These were rather clinically referred to as Type A and Type B. If you are a little more old-fashioned, Master Yoda 600+ years old-fashioned, or simply a hopeless romantic they were sometimes referred to as the Mark of the Scale and the Mark of the Cloth. 

Type A was almost elegant in its simplicity. It was a mark for your other half, the optimist to your pessimist, the light to your dark and visa versa. Type A was almost always denoted by a pair of intricate marks, most often on the hand, or feet or arms of each of the pair. A matching set of 4 identical marks. 

Type B was the opposite of simple. Some people have a face only a mother could love, well the same is apparently true for personalities. Type B soul marks are not small or symmetrically or anything so easy. They are big, covering large swathes of the body in dark designs mirrored in the soul that best matched their own. Type B marks were a promise of inevitability, after all, who could love a zealot but a zealot, who could love a cynic but a cynic. Perhaps the abrasive personality of those who bore Type B marks was a self-fulfilling prophecy, a by-product of being told there was only one soul in the galaxy capable of loving you for who you are.

Wolffe had always resented what the large twisting pattern had said about him. Cody and Fox agreed it suited him perfectly. He was too stubborn, too abrasive to be loved by someone who wasn’t equally matched. Plo hadn’t seemed all that abrasive when they had first met, but Wolffe supposed he had had much longer to temper that side of himself. The Jedi tolerance of difficult people was, after all, rather limited. Sighing Wolffe turned and walked back into the main room of their quarters. 

Plo lay still in their bed. The slow rise and fall of his chest and hiss of his mask indicators that he was asleep. Wolffe wondered if Kel Dor could snore. The skin around Plo’s goggles moves a fraction into a frown as he rolled over on to his side. Wolffe knew he was awake now even though he had no idea if his eyes were open or closed. Wolffe had never seen his soulmate's eyes or seen into his soul. He wonders if the 2 things were connected, he wasn’t sure they were. 

The Kel Dor Jedi propped himself up on his elbow, his gaze directed towards Wolffe. 

“It still troubles you?” Plo asked quality, the softness of the works amplified the synthetic quality that punctuated his Generals every word. 

“No…” Wolffe replied just as quiet, but with none of the softness. Plo was silent, waiting for Wolffe to continue. 

“Patches said everything looked normal, that it functions well. He said any pain I was experiencing was psychosomatic”.

“Ahh” Plo replied, tilting his head to the side “but that doesn’t make it hurt any less, does it?” Wolffe closed his eyes and turned his back on the Jedi. Taking a deep, shaking breath, he opened them again. Plo’s distorted image was reflected in the chrome-finished durasteel of the door frame. A sea of brown and tan cut with cold metallic grey. That cold mechanical whisper was still there, never normally audible, punctuating each breath the Jedi drew. Wolffe turned back to his soul mate. 

“When you look in the mirror what do you see” Wolffe was powerless to stop the question. Plo didn’t seem startled by such a seemingly out of the blue question, but then again Wolffe had never seen him startled by anything, unexpected or otherwise. 

“I see a Knight of the Jedi Order” it wasn’t the reply Wolffe was looking for. Plo knew this. He sighed, his shoulders seemed to drop, the Kel Dor moving to sit on the edge of the bunk. He looked more unsure than Wolffe had ever seen him. To anyone else seeing the soul mate open up, dropping their professional demeanour, would have been a welcome gesture, a sign of trust but for Wolffe seeing a Jedi, even his Jedi, look unsure filled him with dread. Unsure Jedi meant dead clones.

“As you know, my Uncle brought me to the temple very young, even for a Jedi Youngling, all the better to acclimatise me an environment far removed from Dorin. He wasn’t wrong, I never had any of the trouble adjusting to my mask or goggles that other Kel Dor youngling did when they first arrived. Some might say it worked a little too well. When I was a little older, I returned to Dorin for the first time in years… I couldn’t bring myself to take my mask off. I couldn’t face the idea of taking a breath without it, couldn’t bring myself to see the world without my goggle on. You asked me what I see when I look in the mirror, I see myself because, after all these years, this mask is more familiar to me than my own face.” The tip of Plo’s left claw cover traced over the geometric pattern of his right shoulder, a particularly intricate section of the swathes of dark that rapped over his back and neck. It was a nervous habit that never failed to make Wolffe’s heart twist. 

“I’m not sure I will ever look in the mirror and see myself again” Plo was silent for a moment, his head tilted towards Wolffe. 

“ You will, it will take time but you will” War was not accustomed to affording people a great deal of time, especially not to clones. Still, Wolffe kept those thoughts to himself, the knowledge best left unspoken between them. They both often left a great deal unspoken, Wolffe wasn’t sure if that was a testament to their familiarity or to the stubbornness that characterised them both. 

Wolffe moved to sit done next to Plo on the bed. 

Part of him wanted to lean his head onto Plo’s shoulder, to close his eyes and let his troubles melt away. But they didn’t have that kind of relationship. They slept in the same bed, they sat together in the mess, stood side by side, fought side by side, but there was a distance that neither seemed to be able to cross. 

The only constant in Wolffe’s life was his brothers for as long as he could remember, his only concern keeping them as alive as long as possible. He had failed at Abregado, but so had Plo. From the moment he was decanted, they were told about the Jedi. These otherworldly, luminous being, capable of impossible thing. None force sensitives, clone included, felt the hair stand up on the back of their necks when a Jedi walked past, some primal warning that a dangerous creature was in their midst. One that moved a little too fast to be natural looked at you a little too long and a little too deep. The Jedi were supposed to be perfect, impossible, ineffable, infallible. Turns out they were all too mortal. 

Your soulmate was supposed to be your other, half your equal and so never in a million years did Wolffe think that his soulmate would be a Jedi. He didn’t want them to be a Jedi, because that meant that in all the ways that mattered, the Jedi was just like him.  
And that thought terrified him. 

Plo’s head making contact with his shoulder threw him for a loop, startling him from his thoughts. 

“I’m sorry” For Abregado, for Ventress, for your eye, for your brothers, for not being what you wanted, for not being what you needed. Wolffe sighed. They both left a great deal unspoken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> None of the soul marks in this series end partially well, thus in the nature of angst but while a lot of the Type A marks have a poetic sort of tragedy to them, Type B just suck. The effect of being told you have one shot a love and happiness, and to anyone else you are essentially unlovable shapes the people with these marks to an enormous degree.  
> Wolffe and Plo are a pair of type B soulmates. They are both characterised as being very stubborn, and rather unyielding, Plo hiding this very well, Wolffe not so much. I like the idea of the Type B marks being a hallmark of Darkside force users. Basically, not all people with type B marks are Sith, but all Sith have type B marks type deal.


	4. Rex – To the ones I couldn’t save

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It Arc Trooper Fives sir… he’s had some sort of breakdown… he’s in the fresher sir” Rex closed his eyes; he should have known this was coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING - this chapter references a relationship between 2 clones - it can be read as platonic is that's your style. If you are not a fan it would be best to skip this chapter. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

“Sir… Sir” Rex couldn’t help but sigh. 

“What is it shiny” Rex probably should have learnt the kid's name. Oh well, Rex would just call him V until he remembered, or someone told him. The kid's tattoo sort of looked like a V without a tail, right? 

“It Arc Trooper Fives sir… he’s had some sort of breakdown… he’s in the fresher sir” Rex closed his eyes; he should have known this was coming. 

“Alright, lead the way. You, go get a medic, meet us there” Rex made a rough hand gesture towards the corridor that leads to medical and V’s friend who had been standing a few paced back gave a quick nod and hurried away. Dang, another shiny whose name Rex had forgotten. Rex settled on Topknot in the interim. 

As he followed V as he walked a few paces ahead, Rex considered his sudden inability to remember the shinny’s names. Was it that there were too many of them these days? No that wasn’t it, back at the start of the War he had received wave after wave of new recruits to patch up the legion as it ran from conflict to confits as the Republic scrambled to draw the battle lines with the newly formed but better prepared separatist threat. Maybe he was just getting tired with carrying around the names of dead men in the back of his head. Perhaps it would be easier if he never knew their names to begin with? No, Rex knew that it would be easier but easy wasn’t 501st style. His men deserved better, V and Topknot deserved better. 

Rex didn’t get a chance to ask V his name. He had paused outside the door to fresher 3 on F deck, seeming afraid to go in. V turned back to Rex with trepidation. Rex gave him a long look in return. V gave a barely audible sigh and hit the door release.   
The noise hit Rex like a tonne of rock. It was the howl of a wounded animal begging to be allowed to die. It seemed to rip Rex open.

As Rex stepped into the fresher, the circle of the brothers that formed around the figure on the floor, parted. The figure on the floor, half-naked, dripping with blood, surrounded by shards of mirror. 

“Everyone out” Rex heard the command loud and clear, but it took him a couple of seconds to realise that it had come from him. No one else had to be told twice, it was like Rex had given them the permissions to leave they had so desperately needed. None of them had wanted to leave their brother there on the floor, but they knew that there was nothing they could do to help him. 

“Not you” V had followed him into the fresher but had seemed to just as relieved to leave again. Rex didn’t let him; it would be a two-man job to move the Arc trooper if needed. A small selfish part of Rex couldn’t face being left to deal this misery on his own. 

As Rex moved towards the Arc, he lowered himself to the trooper’s level, until he too was sat on the floor. He felt a sharp sting in his knee as he accidentally knelt on a shard of the broken mirror, but he ignored it in favour of laying his hand on the arc troopers’ arm. Fives jerked away as though he had been struck, the painful moaning coming to an abrupt stop. The agonising wheezing sobs it gave way too were much worse. 

“I’m so sorry Fives, but there was nothing any of us could have done…” Something dangerously close to a scream escaped Fives, cutting Rex off short. There was something like a yelp over Rex’s shoulder.

The sound the door opening behind them pulled Rex’s attention. Kix knelt in Rex’s periphery, and they exchanged a long look. 

“Fives… Look at me” Kix started. Fives moan cut him off again.

Fives hand shot out and grabbed the front of Rex’s blacks, viper quick. As he raised his eyes to meet Rex’s, there was madness the likes of which Rex had never seen and hoped to never see again. Slowly his hand moved away from where it was wrapped around his ribs, just under his arm. Beneath his hands was his soul mark, black as night. Rex realised 4 incontrovertible truths in very quick succession. 

One – Echo was still alive. The explosion hadn’t killed him as they had assumed.

Two – That would mean he was still on Lola Sayu. They hadn’t been able to retrieve his body. 

Three – There was no going back to Lola Sayu. They had barely made it off the first time.

Four – Fives would never see Echo again. Rex couldn’t have told you how he knew that to be true, he simply did, as did Fives. 

Rex’s heart broke for Fives. Kix seemed to be having the same series of revelations. His culminated in a sigh and a dipped head. After a beat, Kix turned back to him. 

“We need to get him to medical, those cuts are deep and probably still have shards of mirror in them” Rex nodded. He turned back to V, where he was awkwardly loitering. 

“Give me a hand with him” Pulling one of Fives arms over his shoulder and wrapping his own around the other man’s waist, he saw V do the same on the Arcs other side. The walk to the medical bay seemed like an eternity and a heartbeat to Rex, a trail of red-painted of the floor behind them. Hauling Fives onto the medical bed was, as it turned out, a three-person job. Fives had gone limp, silent, with a distant look in his eyes that filled Rex with dread. He wished he could say he hadn’t seen that look in a brother before, but he had, and they had never lived long. 

Once Kix had helped them get Fives settled, he stuck a needle into Five’s neck, and he was out like a light, much to the relief of all in attendance. Rex opened his mouth to say something to Kix, but the medic just gave a shake of the head. 

“I need to stitch him up, I’ll call you when I’m done” That wasn’t a conversation either of them were looking forwards too. “For now, you need to take a trip the fresher, both of you, use the medical one, it should be empty”. Rex had forgotten about V again, still by the door, looking as though he would rather throw himself into the nearest sun than take a trip the fresher with his captain. 

Rex shrugged; he didn’t have the energy to corral a bashful shiny, so he just walked in the direction of medical bay freshers. V trotted along a few places behind him. Once in the changing area, he stripped off his blacks, soaked through with blood, a renewed sense of fear for Fives when he realised quite how much there was. 

Trying the shake that though of Fives out of his head, he decided to focus on what he imagined was a far more manageable problem. Namely his two currently nameless shinnies. 

Turing to V, who had also stripped out of his blacks, he asked:

“What you name, kid?” and completely missed the answer. The kid had long sweeping tendril scars, almost creature-like, that cover his right leg, his right hip, that wrap around his stomach, up his back and over his shoulder. A scarred over soul mark, bigger than any Rex had seen. He hoped that the V had been decanted with the mark already a scar, or he must have experienced agony the likes of which Rex couldn’t imagine. 

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that” he dragged his eyes back up to V’s face. He was surprised to find cold anger in the shinny’s eyes. 

“Dogma…sir” came the rather curt reply. Dogma? Rex was relatively sure he would find out the reasoning behind that name in due time. Dogma turned his back on Rex and walked into the fresher proper. Rex followed him. 

“and your friend?” Dogma gave him a confused look. 

“The one with the topknot.” Rex thought it was odd he needed to clarify. 

“Oh… Tup” Dogma stepped under the spray. Dogma and Tup, Rex committed their names to memory. Under the quite of the spray, all the names begin to float around Rex’s head. The names of the living, Fives, Kix, Jesse, Hardcase, Dogma, Tup, onwards until he recited all the men he would lead into battle tomorrow. Then he started on the names of the dead, one after the other, to a marching beat—finally, one last list, a list of one, the list of the missing. 

***

Rex leaned his head on the fresher wall. The desperation in Fives’ voice, the fear in his eyes as he described a terrible conspiracy, chip inside the clones, a plot to overthrow the Jedi. It all seemed too farfetched, impossible to be true. Still, something inside of Rex told him that this danger wasn’t imaginary. 

Rex was so tired. First Tup, now Fives. And before them, Waxer, Hardcase and Dogma. Rex thought back to the 2 shinnies fresh of Kamino, whose name he had forgotten. One destined to die on a Kaminoan operating table betrayed his own mind, the other executed for executing a traitor. Rex couldn’t bring himself to be sorry he remembered their names, they deserved to be remembered.

And Fives, who’s soul mark wasn’t a scar but a wound of the living soul mate he was forced to leave behind. Echo was out there somewhere, Rex was sure, but he hoped that losing Fives wasn’t the final straw.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up - Shaak Ti


	5. Shaak Ti – Time is a Storm

Shaak Ti had not been on Kamino for long, only a few days, and already the endless corridors if sterile white were beginning to grate on her. The cold of the walls contrasted with the hum of life she felt rippling through the facility, tens of thousands of unique signatures, thrumming to the same beat. It all struck a somewhat dissonant chord, and it set her teeth on edge. Nala Se seemed to float alongside her as they walked towards the primary control centre, the heart of the Kaminoans mass manufacture operation.   
“We have contingencies of all foreseeable eventualities” Nala Se demurred. Shaak found that to be a rather empty statement.

“It is the unforeseen eventualities that concern me most doctor” Shaak replied, not allowing her polite smile to drop, despite the urge to grimace. “The force moves in uncertain ways, particularly when concerning soulmates”. 

If Shaak didn’t know better, she would have said she saw Doctor Se’s mouth twist. Even the mere mention of soul marks or soul mates seemed to set the Kaminoan on edge. From what she had seen in her short time on the planet, the Kaminoan appeared to hold the marks in little regard. Shaak was not surprised, so many isolationist species behaved much the same way. With so many sentient species in the galaxy, the odds of happening upon your soul mate during a life confined to a single planet was exceptionally low. Subsequently, species like the Kaminoans put little stock in the idea a finding the perfect person, unlikely as it was. This knowledge filled Shaak with trepidation for the Kaminoans creations. The dismissive almost contemptuous attitude the Kaminoans displayed regarding the marks, the sheer numbers of clones being produced on Kamino, all of whom had unique marks of their own, well the force was telling Shaak that they were heading for a perfect storm. 

The Kaminoans seemed to regard the clones as little more than livestock, designed to die as Master Tiin had put it, as he raised his reservations about the Jedi’s use of the army. From their conversations, it would seem that the Kaminoans had anticipated that the clones would have a soul mark but had assumed that they would all share the mark of the genetic template, Jango Fett. This was quickly proved to not be the case as the first baches were decanted with marks that varied wildly. 

The Jedi could have told them of their mistake, Syfo Dias should have told them of their mistake. It was not the makeup of a person’s blood that forged their soul mark, but the content of their heart. Every Jedi youngling was taught this, Syfo Dias should have known better. 

Shaak fears for what this War would do to the galaxy. The planets that would bleed, the futures that would never come to pass, but most of all she feared for the men made on Kamino, and the impact their creation would have both on the battlefield and far away from it. 

Grief brings pain, pain brings hate, and hate is a path to the dark side. Another Jedi adage she has known longer than she has known her own name. Shaak had always preferred the Togrutan version of the same sentiment. Sorrow begets sorrow. Millions of men would be sent to their deaths before this War was done, and each one would leave someone behind. Their losses would be felt across the galaxy on both sides of the battlefield whether the galaxy wanted to acknowledge this or not. There would be no shortage of grief to go around, leaving scars that would never truly heal. 

In the days of the Old Republic, the Sith has known this. They had destroyed planets, whole systems just to watch the galaxy bleed. The Sith had understood that quickest way to destroy the soldier was to go for their heart be that the one in their chest or the one in someone else’s. 

The doors to the control centre slid open, the expensive room was an oddly dark contrast with the brilliant white of the rest of the facility. All the better to read the myriad of glowing screen and covered every inch of the room, Shaak assumed. Nala Se’s monologue followed them in.

Shaak has all but tuned out the Kaminoan, her attention transfixed on a wall of green and yellow control lights against far wall furthest from the door. Thousands of tiny dots split into sets of 5, steady and unblinking. Shaak was transfixed, and she had no idea why. Nala Se followed her gaze. 

“Those are the incubation tube status indicators” she states. “for each of the embryonic clones currently in progress.”

“Status indicators?” Shaak queried. Shaak’s eyes flicked briefly to Nala Se and then back to the wall of lights. 

“They are a way for us to easily monitor the development of each new clone. Green signifies development is occurring within normal parameters. Amber lights signify an anomaly has been detected within that embryo that needs to be manually evaluated by a member of the assigned manufacture team so that the necessary corrective actions may be taken”.

“and red lights?” There were no red lights on the board, but the question fell from Shaak’s lips before she could stop it. Nala Se’s head tilted to one side her grey eyes blinked once, twice. 

“Were a red light to show on the board, it would signify a critical failure of development in that embryo. Such instances are, however, are exceedingly rare, the cloning process we implement has a 98%...” Shaak tuned out Nala Se entirely at that point. Her attention was entirely upon a set of 5 amber lights in the middle left of the board. Her heartbeat felt too fast in her chest, the cavernous room of the control centre felt too small. Those 5 amber lights felt as though they were burning into her eyes, but she could not look away. ~anomaly~ whispered a voice in the back of her head. 

Nala Se’s hand on her shoulder forced Shaak to draw in her breath. Glancing up at the Kaminoan, Shaak gave her a tight smile. 

“I see, that is fascinating. Now, where were we?” Shaak began to turn away from the wall of lights back towards the centre of the room. ~critical failure~. Ice ran down Shaak’s spine, and her eye found those 5 amber lights once again. 

No not amber, not anymore, now they were red. 

Shaak runs. 

If you asked her later, Shaak could not have told you that path she took to the main floor of the cloning facility, the many twists and turns of the identical white corridors melting away as the force guided her to her destination. She could, however, tell you exactly how long it took her to get there. 

It took her 4 minutes. It was after the first of these 4 minutes that the first of the 5 red lights blinked out. 3 years later a child is born on Ryloth, their soul mark, intricate spirals on the tops of each of their feet, already scared and white. That child’s mother and father weep for the soulmate their child will never know, for CT-6034. After the second minute, the second light to blinks out. On Geonosis, CT – 1345 feels ice run down their forearms. When they remove their armour at the end of the day, the once dark, striking lines that ran from wrist to elbow are white, the colour leach out. Their tears cut lines through the dust on their cheeks. Dust becomes his name after that. CT – 6044 never gets a name. Minute 3 was up; another light is out. CT – 6057 would never have gotten to meet their soulmate anyway. Their soul mark, a scarred white blaze across their back, had belonged to another little red light, no more than 3 weeks previous—a certain symmetry to be found in that some might suppose. The fourth light goes out as Shaak crossed the threshold of the lab. 

Her shout of “No” is enough to startle the Kaminoan scientist away from the console in front of the 5 cloning tubes that had been pulled from the racks. 4 were empty, one was not. 

Shaak Ti would not remember what she said to the Kaminoan scientist to get them to stop, to get them to leave but eventually, she found herself kneeling in front of that one, none-empty tube, her hand on the glass, feeling the thrum in the force given out by the life inside. CT – 6099 was safe, every other little red light from those moments forward was safe. Shaak drew in a deep, shaky breath. 

Later that night, Shaak stood in front of the mirror. When she had woken up that morning, the spiral pattern just under each of her collar bones had been dark. The scars that now replaced them seemed to mock her. 4 minutes. While Jedi Master Shaak Ti lived, CT – 6083, light number 4, would be that last life needlessly extinguished on Kamino. She promised herself that. 

She would not be able to keep that promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight side note and clarification, the amount of pain someone feels when their soul mate dies is dependant on a couple of factors. Number 1 how well they knew their soul mate, for example when Deechi died Padme was doubled over in pain, she didn’t know he was her soul mate, but she had known him for a number of years as part of the senate, Dust had never met his soul mate for all the felt was a feeling of cold. Number 2 how they died is a factor, someone burning hurts more than them dying in their sleep. Number 3 the Type of soul mark, as I’m sure you can guess Type B hurts worse than Type A, this will be seen in the next chapter…


	6. Tup – When beggars die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tup thinks that in another life, he may have been a romantic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry its been a little while but I just couldn’t seem to get this chapter right! I invented a squad for Dogma and Tup and a CT number for Dogma.

Tup thinks that in another life, he may have been a romantic. In this life, however, there is little room for romance and far too much room for heartbreak. To him, there was no greater symbol of this that soul marks. For every Jesse and Kix, there were two of Fives and Echo. For every stolen moment of happiness, every embrace after a long hard battle, there were white scars, scream to dead ears, and sobs in the dead of night, one half never again to be whole.

When Tup thinks of soul marks, he thinks of when he was 4 years old, kneeling on CT – 5393’s arm as his other 3 batch mates held down his other limbs, a hand clamped over his mouth, muffling his screams of agony. When Tup thinks of soul marks, he thinks of CT - 5393’s eyes rolling back in his head, his body going limp as the burning became too much to bear, salty tears and sweat drying on his hair and face. When Tup thinks of soul marks, he thinks of the night CT – 5393 cessed to exist, the night he became Dogma, a pale shadow of Tup’s snarky twin, who clung to the idea of being the perfect soldier now that all hope of happiness had been burned away, leaving only a twisted scar.

As Tup lay on his back, Fives looming over him, his mind was clear for the first time in days. Each heartbeat seemed to pump ice though his veins but the marks on his hands were warm. When he closed his eyes, he can almost see a face, a glint of a half-smile, warm eyes just like his own. He can hear Fives calling his name, over and over, but it becomes more distant. Instead of his name on Fives lips its another name, Echo, Echo, Echo. It’s an agonising howl reverberating around a nearly empty fresher. All his limbs are heavy, he can’t lift his arm. Fives lifts it for him, clutching his hand between each of his own.

I’m sorry, Fives. I’m sorry that no matter hard to try, you always lose. You fight, and you fight, for Echo, for me, for all our brother. Fate has other plans for you brother. Tup’s fight is over now, he is certain of that.

That half-smile seems to fade now, and so does Fives.

“Tup, TUP, wake up” Dogma’s annoyance is enough to cut through the fog of Tup’s brain.

“Force, he really does sleep like the grave” A giggling laugh that sounded like… Two-fly?

“Not funny” three voices, spoken in unison. Dogma, Rook, Blip.

Tup opened his eyes. He had moved. He wasn’t in the medical bay anymore; he was on the floor of the cadet training rooms. Blip was sat next to his head.

“You took a bit of a stumble out there brother, but you’re ok now”. The anxious expression that was perma-fixed to his face still there as always. He looked so much younger than Tup remembered, only 11 or 12 years old human standard. Tup supposed that must have been how old he was collapsed during a training session, a brain aneurysm, the kaminoans had told them. There was a young twi’lek girl next to him, about the same age. She had the same starburst soul marks on her temples as Blip. Blip had been born with those scared over. The girl must have died before they were born. His marks were dark now.

Two – Fly was knelt at his elbow, grinning like the mad thing he was. His pilot helmet tucked under his arm. His armour was a deep forest green, the colours of a battalion that Tup wasn’t familiar with. Tup gave him a small, sad smile, he hadn’t known Two-fly had died.

Dogma was stood at his feet, arms crossed over his chest. He was in his armour as well, 501st blue. Far better than the prison jumpsuit they had executed him in. Over his shoulder, hanging back at the edge of the room, was a tall, slender figure, dressed is Jedi robes. The strange figure offered Tup a slight smile, his unnaturally pale eyes seeming to glow under his hood.

Rook’s armour was a pristine white, as clean, and shiny as he had been when he died. He stood next to Dogma, one arm resting on his shoulder, lazy smile on his face. Dogma held out his hand, an offer to pull Tup to his feet. Tup accepted and was on his feet in an instant. He opened his mouth to say something to Dogma, but his twin just shook his head. Two-fly slapped him hard on the back.

“So you up for a spar, Dogma just wiped the floor with Rook, recon you remember how to do the same?” Tup laughed.

“Rook? I’m dead, not incompetent” The twi’lek girl let out a laugh at that, Blip grinned as well. Rooks indignant mutters sent the two of them into fits of giggles. Dogma slipped from the circle of his brother, as he had done so many times before, but for once, Tup didn’t worry. He hadn’t disappeared, he had just gone to stand alongside the tall Jedi, like the last piece of a puzzle slotting into place. Tup dropped into a fighter stance in front of Rook and smiled. He felt more alive than he had in a long time.  
  


***

On his bunk in the prison block, Slick started awake. He couldn’t say for sure what had woken him, only that he felt cold that seemed to worm its way into his bones. His hands felt stiff and ice like. Glancing down, he felt his breath catch. The dark marks on the back of hands had faded, scarred over. As he stared at the marks, he felt a sharp stabbing pain behind his right eye. Like someone was drilling into his skull. Slick ran his hand over his face, slumping back onto his bed. Cold dread, an almost hysterical relief, a cold numbness, they all warred inside his mind. Slick rolled over and tried to fall back asleep, but sleep was elusive as Slick contemplated what would likely be the last night of his life.

Slick was correct on this regard. His living soulmate had kept the Kaminos from executing him as a defective asset for 3 years, but his time was up. No sense in wasting credits on him if there was no reason for him to go on living, though Slick bitterly as he was lead into the Kaminoan examination chamber.

Slick woke up in one of the old cadet training rooms, not sure how he had gotten there. One of his brothers, one Slick didn’t recognise, with a teardrop tattoo and a topknot was lying next to him. The mystery bother turned his head to face him and gave him a bright grin, and for the first time in a long time, Slick smiled back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tup and Dogma get the happiest ending in this series, and they both died. I may be writing a fic about the tall Jedi and Pong Krell if anyone is interested.


	7. Cody – I love a traitor but hate treason

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cody had quickly learned that the tranquillity of the Jedi was not so much a state of being as it was the calm before the storm.

Each time that Cody picked up the lightsabre, it seemed to hum with an energy that Cody couldn’t quite grasp. Obi-Wan talked about the weapon being the extension of the Jedi who wielded it, something Cody had taken a while to grow accustomed to.

Cody, or more realistically the 212th, had been assigned to Obi-Wan from the beginning of the war. Master Windu oversaw it personally, and to this day Cody has no idea if he had known. It seemed too far removed from the realm of possibility that it was a simple coincidence and Jedi did not believe in coincidences. Perhaps it was simply the will of the force, acting through Mace Windu whether he knew it or not.

All that Cody knew was that when he had walked into the training salle, 2 weeks into the war, to find a shirtless General Kenobi sat cross-legged on the floor meditating, it was not a surprise to see 2 familiar symbols on the top of each of his arms. He had already known that he and his general worked well together. Now he simply knew that they did, in fact, work perfectly together.

This efficient, deadly weapon had seemed so far removed from the man of that training room floor. Still, Cody had quickly learned that the tranquillity of the Jedi was not so much a state of being as it was the calm before the storm. Cody has sat in Obi-Wans quarters applying bacta to the scraps across the Jedis back, the result of another miss adventure of his former padawan and grand padawan, as the general explained that the Jedi were like lighting in a bottle. Cody had come to agree.

They seemed to possess an almost unnatural quality to them. Just when they appeared just like any other being, they would move a little too fast, reacting to something that as far as you were aware, hadn’t happened yet. Perhaps it hadn’t, the future isn’t as unknowable to them as it is to you. Just when you thought you were having a normal conversation, their eyes would look a little too deep into yours. You would remember that you weren’t in the presence of a person, you were in the presence of a storm. You would remember that the only thing between you and being swept away in the flood was that little glass bottle.

Cody remembers the storms on Kamino, how they crack of the thunder seemed to reverberate through his bones, how the lightning has seared behind his eyes. You don’t live any time on Kamino without developing a healthy respect for the storm. Cody didn’t need to learn, respect for the Jedi had been bred into them after all.

Cody sometimes wonders as he sits in their quarters if this is what the eye of the storm is like. Obi-wan is seated on their bed, datapad in hand, reading away, for pleasure or business Cody doesn’t know. Out of his Jedi robes, hair askew, there is nothing to betray any hint of otherworldly power. The freckles on his shoulder are a constellation of stars on a clear spring night, no storm in sight. But just out of reach on the corner desk is a weapon that hums with the same contained lightning as the man who wields it. Though, Cody supposed, that nothing was ever truly out of reach when gravity was dismissed with a wave of your hand.

Bly had told him once that loving a Jedi was like loving star. They were magnificent to behold, they gave light and life wherever they were, but they burnt to bright, too hot, for mortal men. Cody decided long go he would gladly burn to a crisp for a few more moments in the sun.

The Icey blue light of Obi-Wans lightsabre was a cold strike of lightning, a flash in the corner of Cody’s eye in the middle of the battle. In the din of war, shouts and screams, the hum of that lightsabre was like an old friend; with the sound of blaster bolts striking the plasma blade Cody felt like no power in the galaxy could stop them. The heat of the blade, the slight smell of Ozone and the crackle of mystical energy that surrounded the weapon.

Today, however, the energy in that weapon was far easier to decipher. The clunk of the metal as it hit the ground, dropped from somewhere above was enough the fill Cody with a feeling of foreboding. That wasn’t so much an interpretation of energy as it was the foreboding of knowing that one’s soulmate is up the creek without a paddle. Cody knew well enough that the idea that you were disarming a Jedi simply but taking away their lightsabre was almost laughable. Not that this knowledge did much to quell his anxiety. Today, as soon as Cody gloved hand made contact with the lightsabre, he knew what the hum meant. It was a warning. A shout from whatever was out there that there was something dreadful coming. Something worse than a homicidal wheezing cyborg.

As that yipping green lizard bounded over to him, its rider apparently still in one piece the knot in Cody’s chest eased a little. Whatever was coming, whatever they lightsabre had been trying to warn him about, he and Obi-wan would face it together, as they always had. They were each two halves of the same soul after all.

Extending his arm up, he handed the weapon back to its owner, far more effective in his hands than Cody’s own. Thoughts of the future could wait, now he had to get his men to the upper levels.

The ding of his communicator halted this order. He pulled the cylinder from his belt. Clearly, the news of Grievous demised has spread fast—orders from command, priority one.

Cody had, on occasion, wondered if it were hubris, it thinks that you could contain a storm, catch its lightning. Was it inevitable that the glass would shatter? The Republic had taken these carefully restrained storms and harness their power, like a sailor on a turbulent sea might catch the wind in his sails. Those storm winds had pulled them towards the land, towards peace, but also towards the hidden rocks that littered the shore, waiting for a proud ship to sink. CC - 2224 had only one choice that he could make. Cut the sails, save the ship.

“Blast him”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I pick a metaphor, I commit. 
> 
> Last of the ones I have written is for Bly, up tomorrow. If anyone has a character they would like to see let me know, definitely up for writing more in this series. Just drop a comment or an ask on my Tumblr - Star-ting-over.


	8. Bly – It's on the tip of my tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> CC – 5052 hated the colour blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of the ones I have written. If anyone has a character they would like to see let me know, definitely up for writing more in this series. Just drop a comment or an ask on my Tumblr - star-ting-over.

CC – 5052 hated the colour blue. The shade was irrelevant, light, dark, navy it didn’t matter 5052 hated it. Blue tasted sweet, like the first bite of a perfectly ripe piece of fruit or a sweet sugar dissolving on your tongue. 5052 had no recollection of eating a sweet. He did, however, have a faint recollection of liking sweet things, now he couldn’t stand them. Not that the imperial army had may sweet things going around.

5052 lived with the ashy taste of grey on the tip of his tongue. Only ever intercut with the cool blandness of the white of his and his comrade armour. Sometimes 5052 thought that his armour missed a hot tangy flavour that it used to possess, but he didn’t think yellow was really the empires style.

A single tear ran down the cheek of the woman in front of him. She had golden tattoos her cheeks, they seemed to shine under the damp tear track. 5052 thought briefly that maybe he had once had similar tattoos, but he dismissed the thought, good soldiers didn’t waste time on frivolous things like tattoos… or individuality. The blue of the woman’s skin made his tongue ache, 5052 suppressed a grimace. She moved out of his eye line at last and on to the soldier next to him, CC – 1010.

“Fox” she managed, barely a whisper. 5052 broke his forward stare to glance at her a moment. Her tears were running faster now, “please look at me”. 1010’s eyes didn’t move. 5052’s eyes fell to her forearms, a set of rich dark, tessellating diamonds ran their length.

~ Her mark should be white ~ the though clawed its way up from deep in his mind ~ after all, Fox is dead ~. 1010’s arms moved stiffly to grasp the woman’s wrist, as her hands moved toward his breastplate.

“Senator, I must insist…” the woman wrenched her hand out of his grasp before 1010 could finish. She backed away, her legs making contact with the hard surface of her desk. She breathed as though someone had removed all the air from her office. 5052 took a breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding.

“What have they done to you…” 1010 glanced to him, fingers twitching where they clutched his bucket. The Senator had insisted that they removed them when they entered her office. 5052 wanted nothing more than to pull his back on.

“What has who done to us?” 1010’s eye twitched as he ground out the question, he was rapidly losing patience with the Senator. 1010 had been on edge as soon as he set eyes on the Senator Chuchi. Perhaps he didn’t like sweet things either. 

“I spent so long looking…” the Senator ignored 1010’s question entirely, seemingly in a daze.

“Looking? Senator this is becoming ridiculous we really must..” 1010 never finished the sentence as the senators head snapped up.

“If it wasn’t for the mark…” her sentence bit off. “I wish you had died” There was a manic quality to her eyes now like a trapped animal baring its teeth at the author if its demise. 5052 was so engrossed in the Senator he didn’t see the look mirrored in 1010 for the briefest of seconds before the cold mask snapped back into place. 1010 turned on his heels and walked out of the office. 5052’s spine straightened, fingers clenching around his bucket.

“Senator I’m sorry, CC - 1010 is out of line…” Senator Chuchi didn’t respond, 5052 might have assumed that she hadn’t heard him but for the tightening of her jaw as he uttered his comrades’ number.

“Go” it was quiet, but it was enough to send 5052 out of the room without so much as a glance back. He was halfway down the corridor before he remembered the purpose for which he and 1010 had been sent to the Senator’s office. He supposed it didn’t matter now, he doubted that broken shard of a woman he had left alone in the office would care much for the goings-on the senate today.

The barracks was almost empty. 5052 liked to think it was because all of the occupants were out, doing their duty to the Empire, but he knew better. Barracks 8 was a legacy barracks. It only housed former GAR assets, and there wasn’t many of those left anymore. None of the new breeds of imperials wanted to sleep in a room full of men with the same face, it was creepy they said. 5052 couldn’t help but agree, not with the face thing but with the fact that the barracks was creepy. After all, when the lights went out all manner of haunting and mournful noises could be heard in Barracks 8.

5052 didn’t remember his dreams any more than he could remember eating a sweet, but 5052 knew well enough that not having a memory of something didn’t mean it didn’t happen. All he knew was each morning he woke up the taste of sweetness and bitter black grief. The empty barracks felt too crowded all of a sudden, so 5052 stepped into the fresher hoping for a cold quiet shower.

Unfortunately, he was out of luck, 1010 was stood in front of the mirror, just the bottom half of his back on, tears running down his face. Standing stark on his for arms were a set of dark, tessellating diamonds, 5052 was sure he should be able to place the mark. 1010’s head angled back towards 5052 as he stepped through the door.

“I can’t do it, Bly, I’m falling apart here, I can’t…”1010 choked on his words. 5052 couldn’t do anything but furrow his brow.

“Hey, Soldier, pull it together” 5052 stepped up to 1010 pulling his shoulder round to meet him. This time he couldn’t miss the almost feral look in other man's eyes. It seemed to be consuming him whole, every trace of the man inside lost to that wildness.

“I can’t Bly, I can’t, they are messing with our heads, there’s so much missing, there’s so much more, I can’t think, I can’t take it…” The rush of words spilt out in an unstoppable tide drenching them both in cold dread but for 2 very different reasons. 5052 watched his comrade (~Brother~ 5052 shoved the thought down) crumble before him, too many cracks to patch, too little time. 1010 eyes widened in horror.

“Fives… he…. I….” 1010 grabbed 5052 shoulders “he knew Bly, he knew, and I, I shot him, I shot our brother, because the chancellor, the emperor he gave the order. The order, Bly, Order 66, that how that’s why…” 1010 closed his eyes and petered off. He sunk to the floor, taking 5052 with him. When he opened his eyes again, they were clear, clear first time since he had marched out of the Senator’s office. 5052 thought that much mean it was safe to ask a question.

“What does Bly mean?” 5052 know that probably wasn’t the part of his comrade's rant he should be focusing on, but he couldn’t help it, the word struck him as familiar, but he couldn’t place it. Pain and pity flashed through 1010’s eyes. Wrapping his fingers around the back of his brother's neck, he drew their foreheads tighter.

“I miss you, brother, there are so few of us left, but for your sake, I hope you never remember. But if you do you have a know it wasn’t your fault, they, they made us Bly. Aayla would forgive you, brother, I promise you that” and with that 1010 stood and walked out to the fresher leaving 5052 sat alone on the floor. Her name reverberated around his head. Every part of him ached for something he couldn’t describe. The sweetness on his tongue brought tears to his eyes. How could he have forgotten that name? The scars on the back of his thighs burned again like they hadn’t done in years, phantom blaster bolts hummed through the air and seemed to strike every inch of him, but left no mark. He whispered her name and waited for her to reply with his, but the answer never came.

Bly felt a sharp stabbing pain behind his right eye and just like that it was gone. 5052 pulled himself off the floor of the fresher and back to his bunk, suddenly too tired for anything else.

***

Less than a week later 3923 told 5052 that 1010 was dead, as he enquired after his comrades’ empty bunk.

“Yeah apparently he tried to kill the Emperor” 4777 chipped in. “They are trying to keep it on the quite, but apparently he just lost it, was ranting about chips and orders and the number 5, I wonder what happened to him…”

5052 turned his back on the 2 as they began to speculate. Sitting down on his own bunk, he began to remove his pristine white armour. He missed the taste of yellow, the white didn’t satisfy him. He wished that he could douse the whole kriffing world in the colour of sunshine.

Maybe with just a hit of blue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did the inhibitor chips give Bly synesthesia? Maybe. Why? Because I said so. I also have a head cannon that Palps force lightning-ed Fox one too many times and broke his inhibitor chip just before this chapter happened. This takes place 2 or 3 years after order 66.


	9. Yoda - Hold onto them for as long as possible

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No matter the pain of losing them, Yoda knew he was a better man for Tyhann’s existence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to jtheaucat for the comment suggestion for Yoda. This one really got my imagination fired up!
> 
> As always if anyone has a character they would like to see let me know, definitely up for writing more in this series. Just drop a comment or an ask on my Tumblr - star-ting-over.
> 
> Chapters for Barriss and Mace Windu are also in the works.

Yoda had known Tyhann for the entirety of their life. From the moment he had found them abandoned on the temple steps to the moment that they died, there was no creature in that galaxy he had known better and no creature that had known him as well in return.

He had trained Tyhann, taught them everything that he knew about the ways of the force, and Tyhann had taught him more about life than Yoda had managed in 300 years before Tyhann was born.

Tyhann had had a long life for a human, 120 years, good years, without war or great suffering, a prosperous century of the Republic in every manner. They were a bright shining spark to all who knew them. Almost half a millennium later and there was only one person left alive that had known them. The only memorial to them was the lightsabre that sat on the desk in Yoda’s quarters and the scars he carried on his forearms.

Tyhann had, in all accounts, led an unremarkable life, they were a rather gifted clairvoyant and a dedicated archivist of the Jedi. They had not been particularly powerful, particularly astute or particularly wise. There were a few old tomes in the Jedi vaults that they had rediscovered in far-flung temples, a handful of systems in the far outer rim they had been responsible for officially charting and recording, and to anyone but Yoda, that was the sum total of their existence.

To Yoda, Tyhann’s existence loomed largely. For all the Jedi spoke of letting go and not lingering in the past, Yoda carried Tyhann with him wherever he went. They may not have reshaped the order, but their effect was still felt. When Yoda had accompanied Master Tyvokka and a young Plo Koon to Dorin, the young Kel Dor had been too afraid remove his mask, taught for a long as he could remember that without it he would die. Yoda had pulled the youngling down to his level, projecting calm and kindness though the force and gently removed the mask for the youngling paralysed by fear. Master Tyvokka had commented Yoda had a gift with children. Still, in reality, Yoda had simply done the same thing for Plo Koon as Tyhann had for the Kel Dor’s Great, Great… Aunt Ida Koon so many years before on a similar trip. Tyhann has possessed a gentleness deep in their soul that Yoda could only echo, but if it helped young Plo, then Yoda supposed it didn’t matter.

400 years after Tyhann death, Yoda met a young Jocasta Nu, and his first thought was that Tyhann would have liked her very much. They even looked similar, the same sharp features and bright eyes, burning with the same insatiable curiosity. When she told him she wished to pursue a career in the archives, Yoda had almost laughed. Maz Kanata often said if you lived long enough, you would see the same eyes in different people, at the moment Yoda was almost convinced you could find the same souls in different people. In the end, he didn’t take her as his padawan, he didn’t think his heart could handle it.

He did take a young human boy named Dooku under his wing. Taught him as his apprentice as best he could. The boy's soulmate, another human boy, named Sifo Dyas, was prone to dreams as Tyhann had been. Lene Kostana took that Sifo Dyas as her apprentice, Yoda feared that she didn’t know how much of an issue the boy's dreams could prove to be. Yoda thought back to his soulmate, how had they dealt with the dreams, visions of a thousand futures, only one of which could come to pass. They had never affected Tyhann the way they affect Sifo Dyas. To Tyhann they were merely curiosities, something to talk about over breakfast, not the harbingers of death and destruction that had the younger boy pacing the halls of the Jedi temple at night. Yoda had never been sure if Tyhann had simply been better as better at divining the future than Sifo Dyas or that if Tyhann had still been alive, then he would experience similar dark dreams. After the reveal of Darth Sidious, Yoda knew it would have been that latter.

Yoda tried to stop himself from considering what Tyhann would have made of Chancellor Palpatine. They were always good at reading people, Master Serrdia had once joked that there must be a bit of Umbaran in them, they could always tell when someone was lying. But Palpatine had had the entirety of the Jedi order fooled, the totality of the senate and whole of the Republic blinded. Placing the weight of expectation on a deadman's shoulders wasn’t fair.

During the war, Yoda’s mind seemed to flicker between wishing he could have his soulmate by his side and thanking the force that Tyhann hadn’t lived the see the horrors of war, the devastation it recked on the Order and the galaxy as a whole. Tyhann had lived their whole life never once drawing their lightsabre in anger, now Yoda sent young Padawans into battle before they turned 13 years old. The oldest of the clone troopers were 14. War had turned children into soldiers and innocents into martyrs.

No matter the pain of losing them, Yoda knew he was a better man for Tyhann’s existence. The impression their life and loss had made on Yoda’s soul forged a better person ash. All soulmates did. As Anakin Skywalker stood before him, it was not the pain and fear that truly gave him pause. It was the missing half of him that broke Yoda’s heart. Without a soul mark, there was nothing to temper the boy’s power, nothing Obi-Wan could do to pull him back from the brink, nothing to stop Sidious from worming his way into his mind. The prophecy spoke of a child with no mark like it was their greatest strength and not their fatal undoing.

Yoda couldn’t stop Dooku’s fall, Sifo Dyas’ death, the start of the Clone Wars. He couldn’t prevent brave, compassionate Ima-Gun’s death on Ryloth, brilliant, kind Adi’s death at the hands of Maul and his apprentice or the abhorrent loss of Halsey and Knox on Deveron. There were so many more. Yoda would spend every moment after the fall of the Jedi wondering what could have been done prevent it. He questioned each move he made, each decision. He dreamed of Mace plunging toward the streets of Coruscant, the burning wreckage of Plo’s fighter, the bodies of the younglings scattered throughout the temple, his home. His family was gone.

Yoda watched as Obi-Wan cradled Anakin’s son in his arms, his eyes watering, muttering about the dust on Mustafar at Yoda’s pitying look. Setting the child down, Obi-Wan turned to Yoda, his arms crossed, hands over the places on the tops of his arms where his soul a marks lay, the motion already becoming a habit. Yoda wondered what he would have done if Tyhann had ever tried to kill him. The thought was so obscure, Yoda could scarcely comprehend it. Yoda thinks he might have let them. The urge to pull Obi-Wan close and never let got could barely be suppressed, but there was nothing Yoda to ease Obi-Wans pain now.

Yoda belated realises that Tyhann’s lightsabre was still sat in his quarters, in their ruined temple. He knew that he would never see that weapon again, that the one last piece of his soulmate he had left was gone. The thought hurt more than it should after all this time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up - Rex gets a part 2 because we love him.


	10. Rex II – What is thine is mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like so many clone troopers who hadn’t met their soul mate, Rex was cynical about the idea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always if anyone has a character they would like to see let me know, definitely up for writing more in this series. Just drop a comment or an ask on my Tumblr - star-ting-over.
> 
> Chapters for Barriss, Ventress and Mace Windu are also in the works. (as well as a Rex III)

Rex kept the photo with him, aways. Tucked into the gap between his breastplate and his blacks. In particularly sombre moments, he would take it out, look over the image in every minute detail. The four of them weren't really smiling, but the way Fives chest for puffed out in pride, the way Echo’s body angled towards his soul mate; Rex’s own arm slung over Fives shoulder, Cody’s strong presence, it spoke more than a thousand words to Rex, it was a flood of memories and emotions, good and bad. It had been taken on their return to their 501st after the completion of their ARC training. The 212th also being involved on the mission had simply been a happy accident, but it gave Rex this treasured photo. His older brother, his younger brothers and him. Clones had few things that belonged to them and little time for sentimentality, but Rex found him taking out this photo again and again. It was a painfully perfect frozen moment in time.

Time had not really frozen when that photo was taken, it had marched on. Rex lost Echo, and he lost a piece of Fives with him. Whatever had happened to Echo, wherever he was, it wasn’t in Fives power to find him, and the not knowing drove him half-mad. Fives seemed to become more abrasive, more rebellious with the loss of Echo. Echo had tempered him, reigned him in a way Rex never could. Rex saw it come to a head-on Umbara, but it didn’t help that Fives had been right. Rex had watched Fives face that execution squad with his head held high, with the face of a man with nothing left to lose, and maybe that was true.

Rex felt hope when, after the pain of Umbara, Fives had begun to improve again, and he soon found out why. Tup had left that planet in one piece, but he had taken its shadows with him. Rex had caught him once, in the barracks, turning to the empty bed that had once held his batchmate, face lit up with the story to tell, only for his face to fall at the sight of the empty bed. Tup had vanished into the fresher, and no one followed him. It was that evening Rex had first seen Fives and Tup together on the elder's bunk, just sitting in silence. The day word reached them of Dogma’s execution, Fives had held Tup as he sobbed. Fives pulled the pieces of himself back together so that he could help Tup do the same.

Then Tup had shot the General.

Rex wished, as Fives requested to stay with Tup on Kamino, that he had known how his brother's story would end. He would have grabbed Fives by the pauldron and dragged him out of the hands of the Kaminoans in a second. It broke Rex’s heart to think of Tup dying alone on Kamino, but if the price was Fives life, well there was no contest. The blaster bolt that pierced Fives heart struck Rex again and again in his dreams. Fox’s panicking, gasping breaths as he whispered about how he thought it was set to stun wasn’t enough to make Rex forgive him. Decades later a rebel would put a blaster bolt through Sly Moore’s heart and give Fox the revenge he never knew he was owed.

He and Cody were the only ones left, and Rex can’t image a world without Cody. Speak of the devil. Cody’s cheerful tones echoed through the empty barracks. Rex had asked him more than once how he stayed so upbeat, so hopeful in the face of all the death and destruction. Cody had always just given a small smile and a shrug. The last time Rex had asked, he had given the same non-response, but his eyes had drifted over to where General Kenobi had been standing chatting to Boil, and Rex had finally gotten his answer. Rex’s thumb traced around his bicep, following the dark ring of interweaving lines that ran around the skin under his armour and black. Like so many clone troopers who hadn’t met their soul mate, Rex was cynical about the idea. He had seen far too often the hopelessness in Fives eyes, the distrust in Dogma’s, the emptiness in Appo’s, Rex knew that pinning hope on the love of one person was a fool's errand. All Rex hoped for what that one day when his luck eventually ran out, his soulmate wouldn’t become the empty shell that remained of so many of his brothers that were left behind. As Cody said, it was hard to be that one who survives.

Rex didn’t have time to dwell on the past, he had work to do. They needed to find out how the separatists were countering their strategies before it was too late, and they lost Anaxes. Time to meet Clone Force 99.

***

CT-1409 – CT-1409.

It bounced around Rex’s head drowning out everything else. ‘Echo, I’m so sorry, Echo’. His number was starting to sound an awful lot like Fives scream.

“I get it” a voice startled him out of his thoughts. Rex turned, expecting Cody, but Cody was still in the med bay, drugged-out his mind and half alive. No, it was Hunter who had disturbed Rex’s solitude. The same small half-smile that always seemed to be fixed to his face was still present, and Rex hated him a bit for that. There were some days when Rex wasn’t sure he even remembered how to smile.

“What?” the response was a bit gruff, but Rex wasn't in the mood for a friendly chat.

“I get why you need to do this,” Hunter said, as though that cleared everything up. “To go after Echo, to find him, I know that if anything happened to Tech or Wrecker or Crosshair, I’d move mountains to find them.” Rex moved his hand up to pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t moved mountains to find Echo, he had left him on Lola Sayu.

“Thanks, Hunter, but did you need something, I’m a little busy for a chat”. It was a blatant lie, Rex was lying shirtless on a bunk in the dark, but hopeful it got the point across that he wasn’t interested in a heart to heart with the other clone. Hunter didn’t say anything, but he didn’t move away. He just stood there. Running his hand from his nose over to he short buzzed hair, Rex glanced at Hunter and found him standing, staring at Rex with something like fear in his eyes. Rex frowned and pushed himself up onto his elbow. It was then that Rex realised that Huter wasn’t just staring at him, he was staring at his arm, or more specifically at Rex’s soul mark.

Suppressing the urge to cover the marks with his hand Rex scowled at Hunter.

“Can I help you, Sargent?” Hunter just sighed and shuffled to take a set on the bed opposite Rex.

“I don’t know how you do it. Live with the pain of losing a brother.” Hunter slid off the gloves and handguards on each hand. Rex just stared at him like he had grown a second head. Hunter continued. “We almost lost Crosshair once, clankers blew out on the supports on his perch. Brought the whole thing crashing down, Crosshair with it.” Hunter removed his Vambraces. “ Wrecker pulled him out of course, but he wasn’t moving, bearly breathing” The upper arm plates were removed next. “Tech fried a compressor getting him to a medical station. They said we got him there just in time. Broke nearly every bone he has, bleeding from everywhere, in and out. He still doesn't entirely run right.” Hunter toyed with the sleave of his blacks. “It was the worst days of my life, waiting to see if he would be okay. I don’t know how you do it. I don’t know how you come back from losing a brother like that.”

As Hunter finished, he pushed up the sleeves of his blacks as high as they would go, almost up to his shoulders. It was Rex’s turn to stare transfixed. Wrapped around the other clones biceps were identical marks to those on Rex’s. Rex couldn’t breathe.

“Ahh they do match, I thought they might” Hunters half-smile was back. Rex had a sudden irrational urge to punch something. Maybe Hunter. Hunter leant forward and slapped Rex on the shoulder.

“Come on, we have a meeting with your General to discuss the mission.” And with that, Hunter stood, turned and left, taking his armour with him. Rex sat alone, in the dark empty barracks. Slowly he grabbed his blacks and armour and put them back on. If he didn’t hurry, he would make the General late for his… thing. Rex could deal with this revelation later. Now Echo needed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up – Rex gets a part 3. 
> 
> This chapter was looking like it would be twice the length of the others, so I split it in half. Hopeful part 3 will be up tomorrow.


	11. Rex III – And never breathe a word about your loss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were going to get Echo. Hunter thought it was a trap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING - Added the Suicidal Ideation tag to this chapter because of a throwaway line. The tags a little strong but the last thing I want is to upset anyone so please be aware. 
> 
> As always if anyone has a character they would like to see let me know, definitely up for writing more in this series. Just drop a comment or an ask on my Tumblr - star-ting-over.
> 
> Chapters for Barriss, Ventress and Mace Windu are also in the works.

They were going to get Echo. Hunter thought it was a trap. It probably was, but Rex supposed that he spent so much time around Anakin Skywalker his command style must be starting to rub off on him. If this was a trap, the best way to get rid of it was to spring it. Or maybe it was the guilty part of Rex’s brain talking. The part that had never forgiven himself for leaving Echo behind at the Citadel. The part that didn’t fight hard enough to find him when he saw that Fives’ soul mark was still dark, the part of his brain that couldn’t sleep at night as it recited the names of his brothers that he had sent to die in a war that never seems to end. Rex remembers something Ponds had said, quoting General Windu. The Republic had been forged in the blood of the Jedi, but it would be paid for by the blood of the clones. The thought made him shudder. How many more of his brothers would he have to lose before all of this was over? How many more would he have to leave behind?

Rex glanced up at where Crosshair was talking to General Skywalker, showing him the modifications that had been made to his rifle. Wrecker was stood next to the pair bench pressing a Gonk doid because of course, he was. Rex’s mind quietly supplied that in the brief time he had been working with the Bad Batch, Wrecker was never seen too far from Crosshair’s side. Always close enough to put an end to any fight that Crosshair inevitable started. Rex had observed enough soulmate pairs in his time to recognise the way the two gravitated towards each other and what that meant.

Rex’s eyes slid over to Hunter. The other clone had his back to Rex looking over one of the tactical screens for the mission. Hunter has been studying those screens, flicking through data, since they had taken off. Wreckers jab at his Sargent, laughing that he was turning into Tech, was enough to tell Rex that this wasn’t the norm for Hunter. So what was different?

Hunter didn’t have a personal stake in this mission, none of the Bad Batch did, not like Rex. This was just another mission for them. So why was Hunter acting differently, was he really so worried that this was a trap? The Bad Batch must have come up against difficult missions before, hit bumps in the road. Wasn’t this their style, running straight into danger? It irritated Rex that Hunter was being so paranoid. At least Tech seemed to believe Rex. He was the only other one that had heard that transmission, after all, had even remarked that it sounded human before Rex had even heard Echos number. Tech was a good kid. Rex thinks Echo would like Tech.

Hunter turned and caught Rex’s eyes on him. That small half-smile graced Hunter’s face again. Rex felt his chest constrict, he looked away. Rex didn’t have time to deal with this now, whatever this was, he needed to find Echo. Rex missed the sad look that flashed across Hunter's face as he turned back to the data on the screens.

***

Hunter was convinced that this was a trap. He also never seemed to miss an opportunity to tell Rex this. For someone with a proven track record of running headfirst into whatever trouble he could find, he seemed to be unduly cautious about this mission. ~He doesn’t want to see you get hurt~ The thought almost made Rex snort with the absurdity of it.

Rex did deep down, regret punching Crosshair. Deep down. Very deep down. The anger that had bubbled up to the surface had mostly been directed at himself rather than the Bad Batcher. Mostly. The Sniper had a rather uncanny habit seeing a weak point and hitting it with unnerving precision, both with his rifle and with his words. He did need to learn to control the latter a little better. Rex reckoned that a 7-year-old cadet wouldn’t too much trouble knocking Crosshair to the ground. Rex would have pounded him into dust is Wrecker hadn’t been there to stop him. Rex was more and more confident that Wrecker was the only reason Crosshair was still alive and not a scrawny corpse in a dark ally somewhere.

It had been General Skywalkers pity that had hurt the most. His sharp word as he pushed Rex and Wrecker apart, and ordered Hunter to find a way up the city, hadn’t stung but the slow, careful words and pitying look had cut Rex to the bone. He wasn’t made of glass, he could handle this, no matter what they found or didn’t find in that city. Rex told himself that over and over but the words were hollow even in his own head. Rex felt like he was drowning. Just when the thought that he could come up for air, something dragged him back down. Echo, Hunter, the war, all of it. Rex was so scared that he was going to crack. Rex knew that if he walked out of that city without Echo the, there would be no way back for him. There would be no picking up the pieces not this time, and that terrified him.

Rex needed someone to talk to, to vent at. Normally that would be Cody, but Cody had gone and got himself crushed in a ship crash, and now he couldn’t talk in complete sentences until his rib had healed. He couldn’t speak to any of the 501st, they needed him to be strong, to be a leader. General Skywalker was out, Rex loved his General, but he wasn’t one for an emotional heart to heart. He certainly couldn’t talk to him about Hunter. Soul marks were an absolute no go topic of conversation with Anakin Skywalker for obvious reasons.

A small quiet part of Rex’s brain told him who he should be talking to. Rex shot the idea down almost as soon as it had formed. He was not going to have an emotional conversation with Sargent Hunter, soulmate or not. Hunter was half the problems he wanted to vent about. ~He would understand~ Rex’s shot down the idea again. He thinks he would honestly rather claw his own eyes out. No Rex would just keep it all locked away and deal with the results as they came. Maybe he would get lucky and a droid would get a shot on him, then he wouldn’t worry about any of this anymore.

***

When Echo dropped out of that stasis chamber Rex’s world seemed to freeze. His eyes darted for side to side, his skin was ghastly greyish blue. Rex lept up to grab his younger brother. He was muttering under his breath about the shuttle, about the Citadel. Rex felt nausea rise in his throat.

“Echo, Echo, its Rex, I’m here.” Echo's eyes seemed to clear just a fraction.

“Rex? Y-You came back for me.” Rex’s chest tightened at Echos pained smile.

“Yes, Yes, I did.”

“W-What happed? Where am I? W-Wheres Fives?” Rex’s heart shatters.

***

As Echo moved to stand with the Bad Batch, it was like a puzzle piece fitting into place, and it made Rex want the scream. This was wrong, Echo belonged back with the 501st, not with this band of misfits. That was unkind, Rex was lashing out even in his own head. No matter his word, Rex knew the thing would never go back to the way they were. Fives was gone, and there weren't that many brothers left that Echo would remember in the 501st. A fresh start was what he needed, new faces, new places, and a chance to heal. But that didn’t mean that Rex had to like it.

He glanced across the member of the Bad Batch, landing finally on Hunter. The other man gave him a slight smile, and this time Rex knew what it meant. ‘I’ll look after him, I know what he means to you.’ There was a thread that connected the two of them, he trusted Hunter with this. He shouldn’t, he bearly knew him, but he did. Rex swallowed. He answered the solute, as his vision began to blur with tears.

He watched as they boarded their ship, off on another adventure; this time with another brother, Rex's brother. Rex would be lying if he said a small part of him didn’t want to join them. It was appealing, the idea of meeting danger head-on, no tactics, no battle plans. It appealed to him, the idea of losing the weight of responsibility that always seemed to drag him down. He wanted to be beside Echo again, to be with him as recovered, so support his brother like he should have done with Fives, with Dogma, with Tup. Rex wanted to go with Hunter. To find out everything there was to know about him. To understand what it was like to fit against someone like you were always meant to be there. What it was like to have someone willing to dive off a bridge for you, regardless of their fear of heights, like Wrecker would do for Crosshair. What it was like to stand and fight beside someone and know that they would have your back, no matter what like Cody did for General Kenobi. Rex wanted that more than he had wanted anything in his life. But Rex didn’t board that ship with them.

He stood perfectly still as he watched the Havoc Marauder disappear into the sky. ‘This was a win’ he told himself. He had found Echo, freed him. He had found his soulmate for force sake, these should be the happiest moments of his life. So why did it feel like he had lost everything?

***

Rex looked back to where Ahsoka was standing, where they had buried his fallen brothers. There was nothing he could do for Jesse now. As he had buried his brother, he had check one last time at the bands around Jesse’s throat. Still black as night. Wherever Kix was in this vast galaxy, Rex would look for him, for Jesse. He would look for Cody and get that chip out of his head, he knew General Skywalker wouldn’t go down without a fight, Rex was almost sure he was still alive. He would ask Ashoka about Master Obi-Wan and Master Plo, maybe they had made it out. The names began to flood Rex’s head. Wolffe, Bly, Neyo, Gree, Doom, Boil, Wooley, Appo, Hawk, hell even Fox.

And Hunter, Rex would look for Hunter. He was out there, chip or no chip Rex would find him and his brothers, Echo, Tech, Crosshair and Wrecker. Ahsoka was still standing at the graves, but Rex couldn’t do that. He was already planning, strategising a way to start piecing his broken family back together. One by one. Day by Day. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up - Ventress 
> 
> Just a side note, I am rather dyslexic and have no beta so if you spot any spelling mistakes feel free to let me know and I will correct. I wrote the entirety of this chapter spelling Wrecker as Wreaker before I caught it.


	12. Ventress – I’ve got a monster within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long has it been the way of the Sith and the shadows to prove their devotion to the dark side with a sacrifice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could not decide if I should call her Asajj or Ventress in this chapter. Not sure if I made the right call but calling her Asajj seemed a bit off. 
> 
> Once again massive thanks to jtheaucat for the comment suggestion! Loved the suggestion of Ventress not having a Type B mark!
> 
> As always if anyone has a character they would like to see let me know, definitely up for writing more in this series. Just drop a comment or an ask on my Tumblr - star-ting-over.
> 
> Chapters for Mace Windu, Neyo and Barriss are also in the works.

Ventress had always burnt hot. Every move, every decision was fuelled by an insatiable fire, for as long as she could remember. Her desire to prove herself warred with her desire to need no one’s approval. Her desire for power warred with her desire to be wanted, needed even. She wanted to watch the world burn, but she wasn’t sure she had the strength to watch the people of that world be consumed by the flames. Her soul was a labyrinth of contradiction, one she had become lost in a long time ago.

Dooku’s betrayal was a moment of perfect searing clarity. He had thought her weak, she would prove to him that it was quite to opposite. His lack of foresight would be his demise. And so she went to Dathomir. To Mother Talzin, who had given her way all those years ago. Her mother’s words soothed her soul and stoked her fire—promises of justice, promises of revenge. And now Dooku had come looking for a new apprentice. Bitterness seethed in Ventress as laid out his request. She would bide her time, Dooku’s demise would be all the sweeter for it.

***

Mother Talzin’s voice droned.

“Long has it been the way of the Sith and the shadows to prove their devotion to the dark side with a sacrifice. The price of unimaginable power is one half of your soul.” Ventress knew this. Dooku had spoken of his soul mate too her only once, in a rare and uncharacteristic display of openness. The man had been another Jedi, one prone to visions of the future. Dooku had spoken in his slow, measured way about how he had arranged to have him killed, as though he was discussing the weather, or the finer points of a training exercise and not the cold-blooded murderer of his soulmate. Ventress remembered standing, listening to the word her Master spoke and thanking what every deity was out there that she had never found her perfect match.

Ventress would deny to the day she died how much the idea of meeting her soulmate had appealed to her. Dooku’s mark had coved his hand, his arms, his chest and his back once upon a time. Mother Talzin’s scar was visible on her cheek, running down her back and left leg. Ventress had never asked her how her soulmate had died, but if she had, she would not have been surprised to know it was by her mother’s hand. Ventress mark was nothing so dramatic. A set of concentric circles woven together on the top of each of her thighs. Ventress, in her lower moments, had questioned whether it was her Type-A soul marks that had been part of the reason Dooku had been so quick in his abandonment of her. He knew as she did that her other half was destined to temper, rather than strengthen her. They were her immutable but inescapable weakness.

And as long as she didn’t know who they were, she wouldn’t have to kill them.

***

As the night brothers lined up before her, Ventress reached out into the force. How disappointing. Only a few of the brothers left much more than a passing rippling in the living force. Force sensitivity within the night brothers had been diminishing over the last few decades, but it would appear that the situation was really rather dire.

The pretty one in the front had some of the gift in him, but she doubted it was of much use to him. Her suspicions were proved to be correct went she grabbed for his throat. Far too slow. She moved down the line. Two caught her eye, brothers perhaps, their signatures were similar. They were both stronger in the force than their kin, the smaller one being, the stronger of the two. Something about the two made her pause, the larger was like a raging ocean, all Icey tides and dangerous currents, but the smaller was like a calm lake, deeper and darker than even he knew. Both held potential, but the smaller one drew her to him. To her surprise, as she approached him, he reached into the force, shielding himself. Clever, using the force to place himself beneath notice. It might even have worked on someone without formal training, but to her, it only made him more interesting. She felt a flicker of fear and ripple of anger, not form the boy in front of her but his brother behind him. Ahh protective, this should be interesting. 

Hand to hand combat, an important skill for an assassin. Tragically, one apparently none of the night brothers seemed to possess. A handful of well-timed moved from the smaller of the force-sensitive brothers were easily defeated. Ventress could have struck down if she wished, but she held back. Why did she hold back? No matter she was happy to toy with this one a little longer. His brother fared little better, some impressive dodges but she could send him flying with a flick of her wrist. In the end, he had chosen to aid his brother rather than continue the fight. At least the smaller one had some awareness of the position of his enemy, the larger of the two clearly had not inherited any of the brains.

How could you become one with the shadows if you yourself could not read them? Removing the two remaining night brothers had been a trivial affair. They tried to use their eyes to see her in the darkness, but their eyes betrayed them. The brothers at least were looking for her in the force, the smaller on purpose, the larger one less so. They both made a fatal mistake.

Fear was a powerful tool for any Sith, it fuelled them. Fear, pain, hate, each distinct but all deadly weapons in their own right in the hands a darksider. But fear, in particular, was a fickle mistress, for she could blind you as easily as she could aid you. The smaller may be stronger in the force, but Ventress could taste his fear. Golden eyes darting from side to side. Pity, she had enjoyed toying with that one. She went in for the kill only to find her quarry wrenched out of the way by its elder brother. Interesting, perhaps she had underestimated the larger one’s skill. She ignored the flicker of relief that she felt at the sight of the smaller one’s eye still golden bright as he slumped on the ground.

Agility, cunning, foresight and fortitude. As the pillars of rock began the move, so did the two brothers. The moved swiftly, sticking together, hugging the shadows. They circled back, always moving, rising with the pillars, sure-footed until the moment they weren’t. The smaller one fell, and there was nothing the larger could do for him now. Ventress pounced. She rained strike after strike on the smaller of the two, ignoring his sharp pain that echoed in her own body. Why didn’t he fight back? Weakness deserved to be punished. She reached out with the force, felt the tendrils of it wrap around the smaller one’s throat, lifting him off the ground.

Ventress’s world began to close it. Her hand shook where it was extended, every fibre of her protesting what she was doing. The boy’s struggles were growing weaker but so was Ventress, life draining out of them jointly. Dark spots swam in front of her eyes. He barely registered the elder brothers grip on her arm until he had flung her into the wall.

“As long as I live, you will not harm him!” Ventress felt her chest tighten. 

“Please, spare him, take me” As the smaller one limped away, twin echoes of relief filtering into the force.

***

As Ventress watched her sisters drag the smaller Zabrak into the chamber, and an icy chill settled into Ventress’s bones. She felt as though she was drowning, the fear wasn’t raging hot this time, it was the frigid depths of a vast lake.

The sickening snap echoed around the cavern, and it echoed through Ventress’ bones. She felt a stab of pain through her neck as though it was hers that the brute had snapped, and not that of his brother. The top of her thighs burned, and Ventress felt her world begin to crumble. No, no, it wasn’t possible. How could she have been so blind?

She was frozen, unable to move, staring at the corpse of the Zabrak on the floor. The brute had lumbered away, was talking to Mother Tamzin. The real world seemed a long way away. All Ventress could think was how she would never be warm again.

*******

She knew Ventress was sure of it. Mother Tamzin’s gaze was as unreadable and unfathomable as always. She dissected Ventress with her eyes, opened her up and pulled out the content of her soul. The scars on her thighs ached. Her mother was looking for something in Ventress, and whatever it was she didn’t find. The fire in Ventress rose at the cold disappointment she saw there but petered out almost as soon as it had lit.

Feral Oppress had to die. It had simply been a question as to whether he would die to prove Ventress’s devotion or Savage’s obedience and Mother Talzin had gotten her answer. Ventress would slink away to licker her wounds and come back all the stronger of it, she was sure of that. Right now, all that mattered was that her game was afoot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Up - Mace Windu
> 
> Side note - the number of relationship tags for this fic that didn't exist before my disaster brain came along is up to 5...


	13. Mace - You lose a lot of time, hating people

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps red was his colour, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that in cannon its Aurra Sing that kills Ponds but in this AU Boba is the one who pulls the trigger. Jedi soul marks are a matter of public record, so Boba knows Ponds is Mace’s soulmate and kills him for it. 
> 
> As always if anyone has a character they would like to see let me know, definitely up for writing more in this series. Just drop a comment or an ask on my Tumblr - star-ting-over.
> 
> Chapters for Neyo and Barriss are also in the works. Barriss is taking a while as I need to watch Rebels first...

Mace Windu had always known what type of man he wanted to be. He had spent a lifetime looking inwards, learning to be mindful, the embodiment of what a good Jedi should be. He had confronted the darkness inside of himself and come out of the other side. But as he watched the holo-transmission of Boba Fett putting a gun to Pond’s head and pulling the trigger, he had felt hate the like of which he had never experienced before. As the splitting pain lanced through his skull, with it had come a torrent of white-hot rage that cracked down his spine, through his hands into the air around him.

It would be easy, Mace thinks, to let this feeling consume him. The black, bitterness grief was nothing compared to the power that thrummed through his veins with every heartbeat. Mace could walk out the door right now, confident in the knowledge that there was no power in this universe that could save Boba Fett from him, no place in this galaxy that he could hide. He wanted justice, and if he couldn’t have that, then he would settle for revenge. Mace felt something hot and wet running through his fingers glancing down, what he saw was a trick of blood running from the cuts his blunt nails had punctured in the palms of his hand. Perhaps red was his colour, after all.

In the end, it was Plo who went after Boba in order to secure the release of the rest of Mace’s men. The younger Jedi had framed it as deference to Maces injured and an attempt to prevent any further violence on Boba’s part but in reality, Mace new that the Kel Dor had sensed his reaction to his soulmates death. Plo’s sharp look and instinctual shift to a defensive stance had been missed in its entirety by Skywalker and Tano, but Mace had seen it. Plo had known Mace his entire life, but in that moment Plo had feared him, and he had been right to. In that moment, it took every ounce of Mace’s strength and control not to tear that room apart.

Mace lay back on his medical bed as Skywalker paced by the window. Mace closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The pain in his head was worst than anything he had ever experienced. Mace had witnessed many Jedi lose their soulmate over his time in the temple. Whether through tragedy or simply time, death was as much a part of life as the force itself. Death was inevitable, and they were at war. Each time they had stepped onto a battlefield, there had been a chance that one of them would not return. They had known this, understood this, accepted this. But Ponds hadn’t died in battle.

He had died needless, pointless death as the hands of a bitter child. He had died for Mace’s mistake. If Mace was honest, Jango Fett’s death was not something he had dwelt upon. At the time he had believed to be a terrible but necessary thing, a decisive blow struck at the beginning of what he had known even them would be a long and arduous war. He had struck Fett down minutes before meeting Ponds for the first time, and if Mace had been a superstitious man, he would say that the act had cursed him.

Ponds had told him once, in the darkness of their quarters, that the greatest comfort the took in all of this was that if Mace fell then all likely hood, he would not be far behind. The thought had raised hairs on the back of Mace’s neck. Ponds wasn’t wrong, the survival rates for clones in a battalion where the general fell were not high, but that Ponds took comfort in that? It made Mace want to scream and shout and rage against the world in which they lived. But he didn’t do any of that, he didn’t say anything at all, simple rolled onto his side and pulled Ponds close.

Ponds was gone. Mace couldn’t bring himself to look at the scars of his soul mark on the tops of his feet. They were all he had left of him now. Mace allowed himself to be bitter about that for a few moments. Clones didn’t have personal effects, no mementoes of their life. Master Sinube had shimmering bangle around his wrist, gleaming with light, a reminder of a soulmate taken in their prime, long before Mace was born. The walls of Master Rancisis quarters were coved in drawings and sketches each more intricate and beautiful than the last, the remainder of soulmate whose art graced the walls of the temple but whose presence in those halls had been all too fleeting. On Master Yoda’s desk sat a lightsabre, far too large to every have been wielded by the Jedi himself, but one Mace would occasionally see him run a reverent hand over all the same. Mace would never have any of these things. Clone’s lives were fleeting, how long would it be before Mace was the only person left alive than considered Ponds worth remembering.

Mace gave a long slow exhale. After so many years, releasing his emotions into the force should be as easy as breathing, and normal it was. But this time, the emotions didn’t want to be set free, or Mace didn’t want to let go. The anger and pain seemed to wrap themselves around his rib, his lungs, his heart, tearing them out as they went. Maces eyes opened. He just felt hollow.

***

“Are you certain this is the stance you wish to take, Master Jedi?” Chancellor Palpatine’s voice was soft and sickly sweet. Mace had known a thousand politicians like him in his time and was certain he would know a thousand more. Ponds hadn’t liked him though, on the occasions he had accompanied to the chancellor’s office, he had said the man set his teeth on edge. Mace was somewhat inclined to agree with him on this account. “I’m not sure I have ever heard of an instance of someone advocating for lenience for their soulmates killer”.

The red of the chancellor’s office was nausea. As he so often did Mace fixed his gaze on the expansive cityscape of Coruscant. At least out there there’s was life and the sickly scent of death that seemed to pervade the office. Commander Fox stood in front of the glass, his stiff stance a picture of discomfort.

“There is a first time for everything chancellor. Boba Fett is still a boy, clone or not, he should be treated as such. The circumstances of his upbringing should also be taking into account, as well as the culpability of the bounty hunter Aurra Sing.”

“Indeed, Master Jedi, but I fear that there are those in the Judicial system who which to make an example of the boy. As a deterrent, you see, to those who would destroy GAR property.” For the chancellor’s sake, Mace hoped that the ‘Property’ he was referring to was the Venator Boba Fett had destroyed and not Ponds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up - Commander Neyo


	14. Neyo – What more do you want from me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neyo, as a rule, didn’t like Jedi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always if anyone has a character they would like to see let me know, definitely up for writing more in this series. Just drop a comment or an ask on my Tumblr - star-ting-over.
> 
> Chapter for Barriss is in the works. It's taking a while as I need to watch Rebels first...

Neyo, as a rule, didn’t like Jedi. He would follow them without question, he would serve them until his dying breath, but he didn’t like them. The younger ones were okay, the padawans and new knights, but the old ones, the Generals and Masters, Neyo didn’t like them. They would always stare at him. Neyo didn’t have much experience at being stared at, by virtue of having one of 5 million identical faces. But the Jedi always seemed to stare at him, without fail.

The first time he had met Master Windu, it had been in the heat of battle, not much time for staring, but the High Jedi General had given him a double-take, something Neyo had really questioned until the debriefing. He had removed his helmet and found Master Windu, Master Mundi and Master Yoda all staring at him. Neyo had made to stare back before Ponds had clocked him in the ribs with his elbow and the debrief started without delay.

Neyo wondered if it was his facial tattoo that had thrown them off, but there were plenty of brothers with facial tattoos, and the staring kept happening with each new Jedi he met. When he had met General Plo Koon, he had removed his helmet, and the Jedi had stopped talking midway through a troop briefing, let out a series of odd metallic clicks that had made Wolffe choke before he had returned what he had been saying. When had Wolffe later informed him that he had been subjected to the Kel Dor version of motherfucker, Neyo had bristled at the insult and wondered what it was about his face that had drawn the Jedi’s ire.

Neyo broke his rule when he met General Adi Gallia. She had stared at him too, but it had been accompanied by a small, sad smile that Neyo had yet to work out the reason behind. Neyo spent one mission with General Gallia before he decided he liked her very much. Ponds had taken the shit out of him for it of course. Still, every time General Gallia had joined General Windu and the 91st on a mission, Neyo’s world would get a little brighter. After one particularly difficult campaign, she had laid her hand on his vambrace and smiled at him. A proper smile, not a small, sad one and Neyo new that he could die a happy man if the last thing he ever saw was her stunning blue eyes. But then those eyes had flicked up the scars on his temple, and her smile turned sad again.

It confirmed to Neyo what he already knew, deep down, was that when the Jedi stated at him, they were staring at the scar of his soul mark, the ivory white, intricate mandala that seemed to haunt him. Neyo had been four when the mark had scared. He had awoken with a start in the middle of the night, feeling as though someone had run him through with a hot knife. Ponds and Wolffe had given him a look of pity when he had looked the marks over in the morning in the fresher mirror. He had snarled at them, what did they know about soul marks, but the mark that covered Wolffe’s body was still dark, as were the pair of marks on the top of Ponds feet. Neyo had long ago decided that he wasn’t going to spend his life mourning someone he would never meet. Some days Neyo was glad he would never meet them. When Boba Fett put a blaster bolt in the back of Ponds' head, a piece of General Windu died with him. Neyo had always thought that phrase was stupid, how could a part of someone die. But with the General, he saw it. The slightly hollow look that never left his eyes, all the moments Windu turned to him expecting it to be Ponds to be stood at his side. Neyo watched his General feel his soulmate die every time that happened.

The worst for staring had always been General Kenobi and General Skywalker. General Skywalker’s eyes seemed to burn with an icy fury when he looked at Neyo, and it cut Neyo to the bone, but it was nothing compared to the way Kenobi looked at him. Neyo wouldn’t take his helmet off around General Kenobi anymore. This was as much for the Jedi benefit as it was for Neyo’s. When Kenobi looked at him, Neyo felt as though he was reaching into the man's chest and ripping out his heart. There was no other way to explain the agony in the Jedis eyes when he looked at Neyo. It was General Gallia that finally told Neyo the truth.

General Gallia had lost her soulmate before Neyo was born. His name had been Micah Giiett, another Jedi, and he had died as so many Jedi did, so someone else didn’t have too. She showed Neyo the scars on the inside of her elbow. She told him that Jedi could sense the soulmate of someone that knew well through the force. That it felt like finding a part of their friend inside someone else. Adi Gallia told Neyo all about Qui-Gon Jinn.

He hadn’t been a conventional Jedi. That made Neyo laugh, of course, he hadn’t. He had been General Kenobi’s Master, he had found General Skywalker and free him from slavery on Tatooine. He had been a brilliant negotiator, and more in tune with the living force than any other Jedi alive. Neyo didn’t really know what that meant, but he didn’t dwell on it. He had been kind, considered, yet impulsive, a mess of contradiction. Neyo felt as if General Gallia was describing an old friend like he had known Qui-Gon himself and for the first time in over a decade, Neyo’s soul mark ached. Qui-Gon Jinn died at the hands-on Maul on Naboo when Neyo was 4 years old. Now Neyo understands now why he would walk into a room of Jedi all of who looked like they had seen a ghost. It was because they had, or a part of one anyway.

The next day General Gallia goes with General Kenobi to hunt down what was left of the man who had killed Neyo’s soulmate and she doesn’t come back. Neyo’s world got darker, he wonders if Ponds would have ribbed him for moping. Neyo sort of hopes he would have, he doesn’t think he would have been able to stand the sorrow in his brother's eyes. Neyo would never know because, just like General Gallia, Ponds was dead. War really was a bitch.

Neyo wonders what Qui-Gon Jinn would have thought of this war. Neyo would have been his Commander. So many of his batchmates and fellow command clones had Jedi for the soulmate. It was a phenomenon as old as time. In times leading up to the war, soulmate pair would appear between those who would lead armies onto the battle. Generals and Commanders, Admirals and Majors. The universe way of strengthening the leaders of the future. Jedi would normal have been paired other Jedi as their soul mates. But around the time that Qui-Gon and Master Plo Koon had been born around 60 years ago, there had been a sharp drop off in the number of Jedi who found their soul mate in the Order. The Jedi knew this meant a war was coming.

Stasse Allie never saw Neyo coming. Neyo thinks he should have felt something, sorrow perhaps as he watches his former Generals speeder bike hit a rocky outcrop but he doesn’t, maybe just a sense of grim satisfaction. The republic is dead, long live the empire. Neyo gets to live in the glorious new world for all of 4 months before he is killed. Imperial command ordered an orbital bombardment of an insurgent outpost, ground forces be damned. They were just clones after all, far inferior to the new brand on stormtroopers rolling out across the empire. In the moments before the explosion engulfs him, Neyo thinks he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns to see a tall figure dressed in Jedi robe, with long hair and a kind smile. Neyo smiles back and then he dies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Neyo lost his soul mate to Maul and the woman he loved to Savage Opress. Then in Order 66, Neyo is the one who kills Adi Gallia's cousin Stasse Allie. Why do I do this? 
> 
> This is my current in-universe explanation for why there are so many clone commander/Jedi general pairings. Wolffe speaks some Kel Dor but only the curse word.


	15. Barriss I – An accidental reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barriss felt them die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of 2(?). Post Order 66, Barriss is held at the Spire in the Stygeon system, where the Ghost crew went to rescue Master Luminara. After she was arrested in The Wrong Jedi arc, she was kept on Coruscant before being moved to The Spire, a year or two after Order 66. I’m working with the theory that the Ghost crew were not the first Jedi to walk into the Inquisitor's trap and that Luminara had been there for years, trapping Jedi after Jedi.
> 
> WARNING - Some heavier stuff in this chapter, mental health-wise, so please read the tags.

Barriss felt them die. All at once, the galaxy becomes darker, colder, and lonelier. Even the force suppression coils in the walls of her cell couldn’t block it out in its entirety. The very fabric of the galaxy felt like it was coming apart at the seams. Maybe it was, or perhaps it was just her galaxy that was falling apart, the foundation of her existence that was cracking. She didn’t know if she could call the Jedi her family any more; she didn’t think that she could, but she loved them, and now they were gone. She thinks it might have broken something in her, but she can’t be sure. There was so little left of her now.

She waited for them to come for her too; after all, surely it was only a matter of time? They never did come for her. She supposed it was because she wasn’t a Jedi, and she certainly wasn’t a threat. So, they left her to rot, no need to kill something that was barely alive to begin with. They moved her once, from one cold grey place to another. It was a nice change of senary. That thought had made her laugh, and laugh, and laugh until one of her guards had stuck a sedative syringe into her neck, the fear and disgust evident in their force signature, though not on their helmet covered faces. Her elation at her new location was short-lived, however.

She could feel it constantly, the warped and corrupted echo of her master. It seemed to seep into her like a poison. So familiar yet so wrong. It was almost worse than emptiness, worse than loss because it was hollow. She hadn’t seen her master or felt her presence since she was arrested. Master Unduli had better things to be doing than paying a house call to her greatest disappointment. Barriss had at first tried to reach out to her down their bond but found her way blocked. She had quickly stopped trying. She knew better than to try and reach out to Ahsoka.

She waited for her soul mark to burn and scar, but it never did. She clung to the fact for all she was worth, the only tether to sanity that she had left. That Ahsoka was still out there, that she was still alive. She had no idea what had happened to Ahsoka after she had been arrested, but Barriss was sure she would have been accepted back into the Order. The thought left her a little nauseous. She had developed the subconscious habit of digging her fingers in the soul mark and inch over her wrist. Sweeping dark lines, interspersed with sharp black diamonds. When she closed her eyes, she could still feel Ahsoka’s lips on hers, the taste of Geonosian dust. It was their first mission together, and it had almost been their last. Another kiss, lips still cold following an icy brush with death. The universe had bound her and Ahsoka together, but the pain seemed to follow them like a Spector.

She was lying on her back; eyes fixed on the slight metal defect that had preoccupied her for almost a decade since she had been moved to her new grey box. It was easier to feel things here that it had been before; the force wasn’t as muted. Perhaps she was just getting better at looking through the haze. Her eyes closed only momentarily when she felt them, two of them this time, making that last walk, making that last mistake that she had felt so many make. She had lost count of how many Jedi had come for her poor Master, and she had lost count of how many she felt die. She had given up calling out to them; they never heard her. Or perhaps they never listened; she couldn’t be sure. There was a shadow in the force, an acolyte of the dark side, the one who always came for them and left alone. She waited. She waited for the confusion, the fear, and then the silence.

The confusion came, a sick sinking dread from one and twinging bewilderment from the other. Then came the fear. One tried to control it, as a good Jedi should, but he was not entirely successful, the dread giving way to battle-hardened anxiety forged in half a lifetime of being hunted across the galaxy. Barriss had felt this fear before, on so many of the Jedi that came here. The other’s fear was different; it burned hotter, the sort of fear made an animal bite when it was backed into a corner, the kind of fear the clouded the force. That one is young, Barriss though, with a pang. It didn’t matter, young or old; it had become the fate of the Jedi to die afraid.

She couldn’t hear the lighting of sabres, but she feels the tell-tale thrum of energy. Emotions and energy whirling. Short sharp strikes. A protracted and fatal dance. She couldn’t bring herself to look away.

Of all of the conclusion Barriss had though this duel would reach, the hissing of her cell door opening had not been one of them. As she pulled herself up, she saw a figure, a youngling, shadowed against the harsh light of the corridor.

“Come on!” the youngling beckoned to her. The sounds of lightsabre strike ringing down the corridor, presumably to reason he was in such a hurry. Barriss didn’t move. Just stared at the boy, whose face was the first she had seen in almost 20 years.

“Come ON, we need to go!” the plea was repeated, but Barriss still sat frozen. The boy was shoved to the side as another, much larger figure pushed their way into the cell.

“We don’t have time for this…” came the rough growl, as Barriss was grabbed and thrown roughly onto the shoulder of the larger figure, a Lasat her mind supplied, marched out of the cell. The mad dash through the facility is very much a blur for Barriss; her mind so overwhelmed with the feeling of the Lasat’s hand on her back as he carried her. She hadn’t been this close to another person in a long time, and it was making her heartbeat loud in her ears.

At one point, she remembers being thrown through a closing door ahead of the Lasat. She lands hard, her head smacking into the durasteel floor, before being roughly yanked to her feet by a figure in Mandalorian armour. The ensuing battle was chaotic, and she can feel herself getting under their feet. Unable to process what going on, she is quickly picked back up by the Lasat and thrown onto a small shuttle that seemed to appear from nowhere.

The ship was cramped with the 2 Jedi, the Lasat, the Mandalorian and a Twi’lek pilot. She could feel herself getting hot, finding in harder and harder to breathe. She began to shake, and her head was spinning. She could still feel the trickle of blood running down her forehead. It was all too much, and for one mad moment, she wished she were back in her cell. What just happened? Who were these people? Where were they going? She felt like she was drowning. The world seemed to crystallize as the young Jedi placed his hand on her shoulder. Glancing over at him, he gave her a slight smile. His bright blue eyes made it even harder to breathe. They looked just like her Masters.

There was silence on the ship before the Twi’lek pilot spoke.

“Master Luminara?”

“Gone, we’ll have to find a way to spread the word”. The older Jedi spoke in a low tone as if his words didn’t reverberate around the tiny ship.

“And her?” The Twi’lek gave a less than subtle glance back at Barriss as she spoke.

“Ezra sensed the presence of another force-sensitive; he grabbed her before I could stop him”.

“Stop him?” The Twi’lek furrowed her brow in confusion. “Why would you…”

The older Jedi interrupted her before she could finish, “She was imprisoned well before the purge, by the Order, not the Empire” The Twi’lek’s eyes widened.

“What could she possibly have done that you would leave her in the hands of the empire?”

“She blew up part of the Jedi Temple.” Every single one of the crew turned to her, facial expressions ranging from disgust to shock and everything in between. The young Jedi removed his hand from her shoulder like she had burned him. Barriss lowered her eyes to her hands, the weight of their judgement too much to bear. Her eyes began to burn.

“What do we do with her?” The one in Mandalorian armour broke the heavy silence. The Twi’lek gave her a long look.

“She stays with us”, and with that, Barriss fate was decided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barriss part 2 coming soon! Also coming is Rex part 4 and Boba. 
> 
> I’m rolling with the part Mirialan Ezra fan theory because I love it too much to ignore.
> 
> As always if anyone has a character they would like to see let me know, definitely up for writing more in this series. Just drop a comment or an ask on my Tumblr - star-ting-over.


End file.
